Haitian sloop under sail, originally uploaded by svwindom.

Despite the strong and gusty winds, this Haitian sloop seemed to cut through the water effortlessly, with very little heel.

- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/30/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

(see http://www.findu.com/cgi-bin/winlink.cgi?KG4EYP for latest position)

Today we timed our snorkel to be around slack tide, so we could actually enjoy the nice reefs on the north side of Highborne Cay. I had my spear, and Britt his camera - unfortunately, he was on the opposite side of the reef from me and didn't see what happened, because it would have made an awesome picture.

I had crossed to one side, where a channel of deeper sand cut along the reef, and saw the distinctive shape of a shark cruising along the channel. Now, before you start hyperventilating on my account, I should say that we don't see sharks very often, and have only rarely had problems with them; for us, it's a nifty sighting when we do see one.

This one was a nurse shark, about seven feet long. Nurse sharks are easy to recognize by their small mouths and rounded snouts with little catfish-like barbels on them; the Spanish name for them is tiburon gato, "cat shark" (and in a Colombian aquarium the keepers petted them on the heads like cats while telling us this!) We rarely see them swimming during the day, as they are usually "sleeping" on the bottom under overhangs. They are scavengers, and in fact yesterday afternoon when Britt tossed
the scraps of fish carcass overboard, several small ones showed up to vacuum them up from under the boat. So generally, nurse sharks are the least scary type of shark out here - which is a good thing, because if any other type of shark had come this close...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Usually, when we see a shark, it ignores us and just continues on its sharky way. This shark, however, changed course and headed for me. So I used the tactic we usually use around curious sharks, which is to look straight at it and swim slowly towards it. Every time I've done this, the shark has veered off while still some distance away. This shark, though, just kept coming.

I swam toward the shark.

The shark swam toward me.

I held out my spear, point first. Not that I was going to spear the shark - I hadn't cocked it - but I figured, in the absence of a proverbial ten-foot pole, a five-foot spear would do. Hah, sharky, I thought. Swim into this!

The shark swam toward me.

Right up to the point of the spear, looking me in the eyes, and then...it ducked its head and slid under the spear - and under me. I could have grabbed it by the fin. (But I didn't, because I'm not stupid.) Instead I twisted around, because who wants to have a SHARK behind your back, and watched it as it kept going, swimming away.

And then I hyperventilated and thrashed my way over to Britt, who'd missed the whole thing. Darn.
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/30/2007 [link]  1 comments Post a Comment

(see http://www.findu.com/cgi-bin/winlink.cgi?KG4EYP for latest position)

Finally, the weather gave us a break. The winds settled down enough that we had a fast yet comfortable sail to Highborne Cay, about 18 miles from Hawksbill, under blue skies with puffy white clouds. After lunch, we dropped the dinghy and headed out to go snorkeling.

I have to say it was a mixed experience. The water was beautifully clear, and the coral heads were vibrant and pretty, surrounded by all sorts of marine life. Angelfish and rock beauties made spots of bright color among the silver-gray snappers and jacks; of course, we were focused on the latter, because those are the ones we eat!

On the other hand, the current ripped through the area like a river, making it really difficult to conserve the necessary energy to sneak up and spear fish. (Not that this stopped Britt, who singlehandedly brought back enough meat for a big dinner with Asolare, and lunch the next day.) The coral heads nearest the edges of the cay had less current, but those were shallower and had fewer fish. (Strong current seems to make for the best coral and fish population, alas. Probably something to do with
the nutrient flow through the area.)

Britt, of course, couldn't get enough of finally being in clear, fish-ful water with a spear in his hand. In the strongest current, I took over driving the dink and dumped him out, letting him drift-dive across the coral and then picking him up downstream. We didn't get back to the boat until nearly 6 pm.

And then, we had showers, and drinks, and Anne, John, and Colby came over and we all had a big fish dinner, washed down with plenty of beer and wine - the perfect end to a great day.
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/30/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

(see http://www.findu.com/cgi-bin/winlink.cgi?KG4EYP for latest position)

The sail from Big Major's to Hawksbill - about 27 miles - was not quite as rough as our previous leg, mostly because we were going more or less northwest rather than north, so the wind was over our right shoulder. It was (and is!) still blowing hard, though, and we put out teeny scraps of sail and still zoomed along at better than seven knots. (Zoomy for a sailboat, okay?)

We might have gone even faster, except that Bob (our Robertson brand autopilot, who - um, I mean "which" - we have obviously completely anthropomorphized) was slewing us around like a drunk driver. He steers a pretty straight course as long as the wind is steady, but gusts and lulls confuse him. We played around with changing some of his settings, but if there's a magic parameter that will result in a straight line under gusty conditions, we haven't figured it out yet.

And honestly, we'd rather lose a little speed and have Bob drive than have to hand steer, especially in heavy air. Windom's skeg-hung rudder causes strong weather helm - the tendency for the boat to try to steer itself into the wind - and it takes a lot of oomph to hold the wheel.

But we watched in envy and admiration as a low-slung Haitian sloop cut neatly through the waves and passed us, the skipper waving at us with one hand, the other resting lightly on the tiller using seemingly no effort at all. Despite what looked to us like a large amount of sail on the boat's gaff rig, it was barely heeled. A gorgeous sight (and I'll put a photo up soon) - at least to us.

The Bahamian Defence Force, however, clearly didn't agree. Shortly after the sloop passed us, a battleship-gray BDF patrol boat came zooming up behind them. They matched speed - and let me tell you, it's really weird seeing a powerboat scant inches behind an underway sailboat - and sent several people to board and search the sloop.

Everything must have been in order, because after ten minutes or so the patrol boat powered away, and the sloop continued on. We see these boats every so often in the Bahamas, but don't know what they are doing up here. John on Asolare said that they're usually smuggling either cocaine or people. Not long after our first trip to the Jumentos in 2000, we heard of a Haitian boat that shipwrecked on an island there with more than 70 people crammed onto it; three cruising boats who arrived the next
day ran their watermakers full-time to provide water for all of the refugees, and stayed there until the BDF arrived.

We've had no such drama here at Hawksbill. This pretty, uninhabited island is part of the Exuma Cays Land and Sea Park, so we can't fish here, alas. (Also, for some weird reason the park has installed a bunch of moorings here, for which they charge $$ depending on boat length. There is lots of room, though, and the sand is perfect for anchoring, so I don't understand why anyone would need or want moorings. Nonetheless, the big DeFever trawler that came in yesterday took a mooring. Maybe it's
a powerboat thing.)

We tried to snorkel yesterday, but the water's so turbid from the constant strong wind that visibility's terrible. Instead we've been playing on the beach and walking on the island. Today we and Asolare, who are anchored next to us, hiked across the island (we hiked! across the ENTIRE island! Doesn't that sound impressive? Um, half a mile?) and spent most of the morning attempting to body-surf in the crashing waves. Anne was pretty good at it; to me, it seemed a lot like the dinghy ride to
Staniel the other day, except without the dinghy. The object of body-surfing appears to be to wade out through the incoming waves, which is in itself a challenge, and then wait for a big wave to break on top of you, at which point you throw yourself into the foam and get carried ashore. I think I got a few gallons of saltwater up my nose.

Tomorrow we are going to batten down the hatches and attempt to sail north to Highborne Cay, which will be a beat in this northeast wind. But we'll be out of the Park, so we'll be able to fish, and there are a bunch of likely-looking coral heads on the chart that are tempting us. So hopefully we'll have fresh fish for dinner tomorrow!
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/28/2007 [link]  1 comments Post a Comment

(see http://www.findu.com/cgi-bin/winlink.cgi?KG4EYP for latest position)

The wind was howling as we pulled up our anchors. We sailed out of the protection of Musha Cay and looked out Cave Cay Cut; the narrow channel where we'd gently slid in under jib the previous day had turned into a disordered maelstrom of breaking waves. Good thing we'd positioned ourselves where we could sail up to Staniel Cay on the banks side, without going out into the deep water of Exuma Sound.

Even with the protection of the island chain, it was a lumpy, bumpy ride. Big rollers snuck in through the cuts, lifting our stern and slewing us around, and the chop was, well, choppy. Except for one short downwind stretch, the wind was mostly on our beam or slightly forward, and every so often a big splash of seawater made it into the cockpit. I think each of us got a faceful at least once!

With a tiny bit of mainsail and even tinier bit of jib, we made 6.8-7.4 knots. Asolare, which is a more performance-oriented boat, zoomed on by even faster. (On the other hand, even though they got their anchor down well before we did, we were heading off for a quick snorkel before they'd even finished putting their mainsail away. Yay rolling mainsails and dinghy davits!)

The next morning we woke to the familiar noise of 20-25 knots of wind in the rigging, as well as the unfamiliar sight of blue sky and this big bright hot thing that I hear people call "sun." Anne on Asolare suggested a hike on a beach trail on the windward side of Staniel Cay, so we dinghied over...which was a bit of an adventure. We were anchored on the east side of Big Major's Cay, an island to the north of Staniel, which meant a two mile dinghy ride to town. In order to avoid a mile-long stretch
into the wind, we all opted for a somewhat convoluted route that took us by Big Rock Cut, the way out into Exuma Sound.

The route was nominally protected by several islands, but it felt kind of like being in the spin cycle of a washing machine. Sliding up and across huge waves (well, huge from a dinghy's perspective!) and then getting creamed by the spray as they broke, bouncing and jouncing from crest to trough, trying to peer through the spatter of salt water on our sunglasses...maybe it would have been fun for a few minutes, but ugh, I was just trying to hold on and not fly out into the water. Like a Grand Canyon
rapid, we all agreed. In fact, Big Rock Cut looked a lot like the tongue of a rapid, as the wind and tide were both easterly; I guess you could just surf in on that tongue, but I wouldn't want to do it!

When we got to the dinghy dock at the Staniel Cay Yacht Club, we probably looked as though we had swum there. Fortunately we'd dressed for the ride, in swim suits and nylon fast-dry shorts. In the lovely sunshine we all dried out as we hiked across the island and to the windward side. The waves looked even more impressive from the cliff, looking down on them, particularly since the spray was reaching all the way up to our height!

We stopped to see an under-construction house on a ridge with a great view of the crashing surf, then hiked along the road back to the yacht club where we gratefully ordered cold beer and the men ogled the Hooters girls, who were (we learned later) on the island (and on a fancy motor yacht, the Hooter Patrol IV) for a photo shoot. About a dozen of them were in the bar, and the total square footage of all the bikinis they were wearing added up to about the same as the American flag on our backstay.
(No, I am NOT posting photos.)

Yesterday morning we dragged Sue and Steve out of bed early so we could make low slack tide at Thunderball Cave. It was a fabulous dive, even with the overcast (again, alas) skies and the crashing waves inside the cave that were rougher than we'd ever seen them, and we all agreed it had been worth the miserable dinghy ride.

Then in the afternoon we moved the boat to our favorite in-town anchorage, just off the yacht club inside the reef, so it will be a short and dry dink ride to get Steve and Sue to the airstrip. Since we're close by, we decided to have a final celebratory dinner at the yacht club together. I suspect the men were just hoping the Hooters girls would be there, but hey, we haven't caught fish lately, so I was up for a restaurant meal, and it was very tasty despite the absence of Hooters girls.

After Steve and Sue catch their plane, I think we will hang out for the day on the yacht club's wifi and get our other email and load up some pictures. We haven't actually taken a lot of them with these crummy conditions, but I suppose I owe it to you all to show you what paradise really looks like when the travel brochure photographers go home.
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/26/2007 [link]  1 comments Post a Comment

(see http://www.findu.com/cgi-bin/winlink.cgi?KG4EYP for latest position)

The weather's still crummy. More on the principle of the thing than anything else, we went snorkeling on the reefs between Rat Cay and Children's Bay Cay; not much structure, strong current, poor visibility, and no sunshine. I think Steve and Sue think we're lying about the wonderful snorkeling here. (Britt thinks a lousy day snorkeling is better than a good day sitting on the boat and reading. I think that a lousy day snorkeling is a lousy day!)

On the other hand, the clouds and drizzle have made land-based exertion more pleasant. We anchored at Lee Stocking Island and led an expedition up Perry's Peak, the highest peak in the Exuma island chain at a breathtaking 123 ft. We also took a trail across the island and collected coconuts; Britt showed off his "John Elway technique", throwing a fallen nut at a likely cluster of ripe nuts on a tree, warning us that it usually didn't work - and we all had to jump back as the shower of coconuts
came down.

Up until last night, we've been having only light wind, except in squalls. The sailing has been excellent, the seas fairly flat. On the other hand, a few nights ago while at Lee Stocking Island we were slammed by a squall which brought strong winds from the south - the only direction we had no protection from. (And it hit at 2 am, of course!) We bounced around miserably for about an hour, but as soon as the wind died down, the waves did too, and we all went back to sleep.

But last night, shortly after we returned to Windom from a group dinner aboard Asolare, who joined us here at Musha Cay yesterday, the wind started piping up, and it's supposed to get nasty. (No surprise.) It's blowing 25-30 knots out there this morning, whistling in the rigging like Halloween ghosts. By tomorrow we might have 30 knots steady. The flip side is that the strong winds should suppress the squalls, so we at least know what direction we'll be get hit with, but it's still not going to
be a lot of fun trying to get anywhere. And the sky is still cloudy.

At least we're positioned where we can get to Staniel Cay (where Steve and Sue will fly out) without going out into the deep water of Exuma Sound, so we'll be dealing only with banks chop instead of big waves. And the fishing has been improving - Steve reeled in a (whole, un-barracuda-chomped) mackerel yesterday, and Britt speared a mutton snapper during yesterday's snorkeling expedition.

So we'll be edging north slowly, snorkeling, fishing, and island walking as we go. We had been hoping to spend the end of our Bahamas time at the far northern Exumas and the Berry Islands, but the weather has to be more settled to make that fun. On the other hand, we're not going to be able to cross the Gulf Stream and head north unless the weather improves, too. We'll see what happens.
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/23/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

(see http://www.findu.com/cgi-bin/winlink.cgi?KG4EYP for latest position)

The weather is still kind of wonky, but the threat of a tropical low no longer hangs over us, so we decided to take our chances and start heading up the Exumas with our guests, Steve and Sue. Naturally, as soon as we'd made the decision it began to rain. But we used the wind from the squall to sail up to Rat Cay, where we are anchored all by our lonesome.

Steve and Sue are model boat guests. Their luggage consists of snorkeling gear, one or two bits of clothing, and a whole bunch of goodies for us. Some of what they brought us were our special requests - honey, epoxy, our mail - but they also kindly toted along a couple gallons of beer and wine and more cocktail snacks than I think we can manage to eat in the rest of our trip.

The one thing we're missing at the moment is fish. We ate the last of our last mahi in George Town; we hooked a mackerel today but watched a barracuda swim up and bite off all but the head as Steve reeled it in. (Which was kind of cool, actually. But it would have been nice to have the fish!) But we remember this spot as a nice snorkeling bay, so we will dust off the pole spears tomorrow and with luck, we'll have fish for dinner.
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/19/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

Grouper, originally uploaded by svwindom.

A Nassau grouper hanging out near his hidey-hole in a Conception Island reef.

- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/18/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

We did poker night again last night at the St. Francis, and, um. I won. And Britt came in second. (Which amused everyone greatly, because we had to play against each other at the very end - Britt just bet everything he had each time, since I had more chips, and I, um, cleaned him out.) So we went home with most of the pot, which was enough to keep us in rum drinks for a while.

We may be drinking a lot of rum drinks, though. The squally weather hasn't let up, and a tropical low is threatening to form in the NW Caribbean, which might make things very dicey here. Our plans to take our friends sailing around to various islands might be ditched in favor of staying in the (relatively protected) vicinity, at least until we know what's happening weatherwise.
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/18/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

(see http://www.findu.com/cgi-bin/winlink.cgi?KG4EYP for latest position)

We're still sitting in George Town, anchored just off "Volleyball Beach" and watching the weather. The cruiser's forecaster has basically thrown up his hands and said that he can't really predict what's going to happen: either the scary-nasty low pressure system will develop, or it won't, and everything depends on that. The current weather is kind of like that, too: either it's blowing stink and pouring rain and flashing lightning, or, like now, it's dead calm. (I see big clouds building across
the harbor, though, so I suspect that's not going to last...)

Yesterday we had a nice interlude of blue skies, something we haven't seen in days, so Britt and I walked over to the windward side of Stocking Island and walked the long, beautiful beach. The seas were still stirred up from the recent storms, and the surf was impressive, big turquoise curls crashing onto the sand as they broke.

Last night we finally (gasp!) ate the last of the fish in our fridge, in a nice social dinner with the folks from the boat Asolare. No fish in the fridge! It's a disaster! We need to get away from George Town - which is fished out, and anyway fishing is now prohibited even on the Exuma Sound side of the island - and restock at the "reef market" as soon as our friends show up tomorrow!

BTW, my apologies for the lousy formatting on most of the recent posts. I forgot that I have to triple-space between paragraphs when sending non-html mail. I hope things haven't been too unreadable. Also, I am getting all the comments to this blog by email, but I can't reply unless you include your email address (or I know who you are) since I have no web, just email. (You can also just send email - kg4eyp [at-sign] winlink [dot] org.)
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/17/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

Anchor, originally uploaded by svwindom.

We discovered this old anchor on the Southampton Reef that stretches north from Conception Island and has claimed many a ship. No gold bullion, though. Alas.

- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/15/2007 [link]  1 comments Post a Comment

(see http://www.findu.com/cgi-bin/winlink.cgi?KG4EYP for latest position)

We and George Town have what you might call a love-hate relationship. For hundreds of cruisers it's a destination, the "sailor park" where they plunk down their anchor, join the social whirl, and party until it's time to turn around and head north again. There are hardware stores and laundromats and the best grocery between Nassau and the Dominican Republic. On the other hand, it can be a pain to enter or leave the harbor in rough conditions, town is a very long dink ride from the best anchorages,
and there's no snorkeling or fishing nearby.

But here's always something happening, even now after most of the cruisers have either headed back to the US or down to the Caribbean. Last night, Britt and I went to poker night at the new St. Francis resortlet on Stocking Island - the skinny island that forms the northeast side of the harbor. I would like to say that my fourth-place finish (just out of the money, alas!) was because of my finely-honed poker skills, but actually I've never played Texas Hold-em before and I suspect it was just beginner's
luck. (Britt made it to the final table as well, but went out a few places before I did.)

At my starting table, by the way, were Ed and Bea of the boat Joybells. If you have been a long-time reader of sailing sites on the internet, you might recognize the name: Ed was one of the first out there with his "liveaboard cruising" website, and that was one that fed our imaginations back when we started dreaming about cruising over ten years ago. I always get a little thrill when someone we meet says, "Oh, I know you, I read your website!" - this time I got to say it to someone else!

This is more or less a landlocked harbor, but it's a huge one, so in most places, at least one possible wind direction will be across an awful lot of (shallow) open water. This equals big waves if the wind happens to shift, such as in a frontal passage or squall.

And man, do we have some squally weather. It started back at Conception, when we dodged squalls on our way to Rum; sitting at Flamingo Bay we had two nights of flashing sky and thunderboomers, with one night so active that the sky was nearly white, lit up by constant lightning. Our original plan was to go from Rum to the little anchorage under Cape Santa Maria on Long Island on Sunday, and then to George Town on Sunday - about 30 miles each day - but the weather turned so nasty on Sunday afternoon
that we went straight to George Town in a marathon day.

To our north was a squall line, a solid wall of cloud hovering above the water. At intervals, incipient tornados poked down from the cloud, a whole line of waterspouts trying to happen. It was exciting to watch - from a distance! Although we didn't get hit by any of the storm, it changed the winds around us, so that one minute we were motoring in a near calm on a flat sea, the next charging into steep choppy waves and a headwind. We got to actually sail for all of half an hour. Hey, we needed
to charge our batteries and make water anyway...

At the moment, the weather is, well, horrible. It's been windy and gray all day, but the squall only started in earnest late this afternoon. Rain is lashing us and the wind is howling in the rigging; even though we're in a relatively protected part of the harbor, we're still bouncing up and down a bit.

And it's supposed to get even worse. The winds are supposed to die off a little and then come back with a vengeance from the southwest as a nasty low coming off Cuba passes to our west, a low which has the potential to become the second named storm of this PRE-hurricane season! The atmosphere as a whole is unstable, with potential for lots of squalls over the next two weeks. The problem - in addition to, you know, being rained on and not having pleasant sunshine and the possibility of getting
hit by lightning - is that the wind can howl from any direction in a squall. So unless you're in an anchorage that's protected from most directions, there's a good chance things will get uncomfortable.

So we're not quite sure what happens next. Our guests arrive on Friday - hopefully we'll be able to go SOMEWHERE, and have a decent time.

[*] "a lousy spell of weather"
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/15/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

When we sailed (sailed! Yay! Not motored!) back around to the Flamingo Bay entrance just about exactly one day after the swells had prevented us from heading in, the reef was no longer breaking down its length and the north swells were small enough that we decided the anchorage would be okay. Finding the break in the southern end of the reef made me a little nervous, because the chart waypoint was practically on the reef itself, but with Britt up on the bow where he could see the reef clearly,
I felt a lot better, and we slid through with 18 feet of water under us, plenty of room. (On our previous visit we entered on the north, which is wide-open with patch reefs to steer around.)

Inside the bay, the water was still fairly turbid from the northerly swells, but we could still see the dramatic dark spots where patch reefs rose from the sandy bottom twelve feet down, up to nearly break the surface. We crossed the bay to anchor near Peewee Point in as large a space among the reefs as we could find, and let me tell you, it's nerve-wracking powering in reverse to set the anchor when over your shoulder you can see a big fat toothy reef that would like nothing better than to munch
on your keel! (Well, it would be nerve-wracking if I didn't know the anchor had thunked down into that wonderful Bahamian sand.)

Yesterday the visibility was still not good enough for snorkeling, and anyway I was still kind of grumpy, so I did absolutely nothing other than read and write a little, and it helped my mood considerably. Britt went in to the beach where he'd spotted coconut palms and came back with three butchered coconuts. (Coconuts are, seriously, a tough nut to crack. When we saw the movie Castaway, we were delighted to see this represented realistically!)

So last night we had coconut-fried mahi for dinner, and this morning coconut french toast, and we still have lots of coconut left. Yum!

Today we snorkeled out on the reef, and it was great. Big fish, including two 5-foot tarpon that Britt inadvertently spooked out of a hole, and lots of interesting coral structure with tunnels and caves and canyons to swim through. Probably the most amusing fish encounter we had, though, was in the dinghy on the way out - we must have startled a squid, because it leapt out of the water and "flew" what must have been thirty feet across the water, gliding on the winglets of its mantle. If we could
only have maneuvered the dink quickly enough to get under it before it landed, we'd be eating calamari tonight.

Nobody else is here; a small catamaran came in after us and anchored some distance away, and they left today, so we have the place for ourself. It's odd, but I don't mind being alone nearly as much when we're actually alone. In fact, I like it! It's being surrounded by others who are all socializing with each other that bums me.

We'd been hoping to get over to San Salvador in the next few days, but the upcoming weather doesn't look favorable, and we have guests flying in toward the end of the week. So we've made the decision to go to George Town instead. There we can do laundry and grocery shopping, both sorely needed at this point, and hang out until our friends arrive. Depending on the weather then, we'll either take them out this direction and finally get to San Salvador, or head northeast along the Exuma chain and
start heading home.
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/12/2007 [link]  1 comments Post a Comment

Turtle at Conception Island, originally uploaded by svwindom.

This hawksbill turtle swam close and gave us a good look at him.

- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/10/2007 [link]  2 comments Post a Comment

Rum Cay, according to the sign painted on the building by the government dock, is the "unspoiled jewel of the Bahamas." Which is a marketing ploy if ever I saw one, because so far we haven't found much gemlike about Port Nelson, the island's only settlement.

It's platted out with a grid of roads, most of which have nothing but brush along them. The tiny "Last Chance Grocery" is aptly named. There are about a hundred residents and a hundred million mosquitoes. The small marina quoted us some terrifying rates - would you believe $25/load to have laundry done? (And here I was feeling bad about the $15/load in Marsh Harbour!)

The anchorage has a reputation for roll and surge, which wasn't bad with the north wind we came in on but built up as the wind shifted SE. For some reason it's worst at about 5 am - oog. The snorkeling so far has been okay but not great - some excellent structure, but a lot of dead coral and very few fish.

Fortunately, we don't have to depredate those few fish, because on the way over, we caught a huge mahi-mahi, second only in hugeosity to the one we caught in the Mona Passage between the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico some years ago. We'd had a pleasant day of snorkeling at Conception Island, followed by a cocktail party aboard one of the other boats in the anchorage. The next day, north swells and a cold front were expected, courtesy of the huge storm off the Carolinas, so we all left in the
morning to our various destinations.

We were sailing slowly in very light wind but saw the clouds building, and we were not far from the anchorage when the first squall hit. It was a real boat-washer, but didn't bring much wind. On the radar we could see a whole line of squalls, heading for us, so we decided to turn on the motor and head south, then east for Rum Cay, rather than trying to sail southeast and getting hammered by the squalls. (We don't mind the rain, but the lightning scares us!)

This ploy worked well, and we had just started turning on a more direct course to our destination when the light-tackle rod (of course!) bent double and line started whizzing out. We slowed the boat and Britt started reeling. And reeling. It seemed like no sooner did he make some progress, than that fish would run out the line again. By the time he got the fish to the boat, I don't know which of them was more exhausted.

While Britt had been fighting the fish, the breeze started filling in, and as soon as we got the fish gaffed and hung by its tail next to the dinghy, we put up sails and cut the motor. It was a nice broad reach in light winds, fast and smooth and not leaned over much, and we sailed all the way into the anchorage, putting on the motor only for the final upwind approach to the spot we picked out among the boats already there.

Maybe part of the reason I'm feeling relatively bummed about Rum Cay is that the other boats here are all traveling south, mostly together, and they are all socializing together while we're sitting alone. Admittedly, we have done a poor job of trying to socialize, and I've vowed to do more to reach out and meet people; the party at Conception reminded me of just how nice it is to mingle with others.

Another part is that we were actually here at Rum Cay in 2001, at uninhabited Flamingo Bay on the north coast, and it was spectacular - a lovely beach, nice coral heads, lots of big fish. (And no roll!) But with the north swell from subtropical storm Andrea (!) it's untenable - we thought the swell might have dissipated, but when we motored around the island yesterday, we could see it continuing to roll in, crashing and breaking on the reefs of Flamingo, so we returned here with our tails between
our legs.

Dunno what we're going to do now. We're both kind of grumpy and hot and mosquito-bitten. The choice is to be stuck here for a few days, or motor all day to San Salvador, which might be no better.

I guess we're just spoiled. We like perfect weather, wind when we want to sail, calm when we want to snorkel, and of course lots of big fish on those vibrant reefs - and a couple of boatsful of nice people to have rum drinks with afterward. Now, that's not too much to ask for, is it?

Alas, we have to cruise the conditions we have, not the conditions we wish we had (to paraphrase a certain politician!). At least we have the rum drinks!
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/10/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

Mt. Alvernia, originally uploaded by svwindom.

The Hermitage atop Mt. Alvernia on Cat Island.

- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/09/2007 [link]  1 comments Post a Comment

We spent three days in Little San Salvador, walking on the island in the morning and snorkeling in the afternoon. The water there is astonishingly clear, and over the white sand bottom of the anchorage it is an incredible luminous blue. It's the color we associate with the Bahamas, and since the Abacos and Eleuthera tend to grassy bottoms which make the water look green, it wasn't until Little San Salvador that we really felt like yes, we are here, we are in the Bahamas.

The snorkeling was good but not great, with only a few really good structured heads coming up from the sand bottom. Since we had the mahi-mahi we caught off Eleuthera, we weren't hunting, so instead we worked on our free diving skills, pushing our depths deeper and deeper. By the third day we were diving to 50 feet. (Well, Britt was diving to 50 feet and hanging out. I was diving to 50 feet, taking a quick look around, then desperately heading to the surface for air.)

We did see several large hogfish, which are tasty and easy to spear and therefore a measure of local fishing pressure. Also grouper, including one very big one; a school of Atlantic Spadefish which let us get surprisingly close; and what looked like a lionfish, although to our knowledge they're Pacific, not Atlantic fish. It wasn't in our fish books, so we're really curious. It's a gorgeous fish, all showy stripes and "feathers", and our photo doesn't really do it justice, alas. (Photos to come,
I promise!)

Then on Tuesday morning the cruise ship came in, so it was time to go. We watched it anchor, then pulled out our own and set sail, playing the part of scenery for the passengers.

We sailed 40 miles that day, almost none of it actually toward our day's destination which was Bennett's Harbour on Cat Island, 16 miles away. The winds were obnoxious, not only out of the wrong direction but shifting frequently, and our GPS track looks like a drunkard's. On the other hand, we did a LOT of fishing.

But as any fisherman knows, fishing and catching are two different things. We lost three lures as fish broke the line; I had a fourth almost to the boat and it leapt up, slacking the line and looping it around our wind generator, which let it jerk away; Britt had a fifth all the way to the boat, and it butted the hull with its head and knocked free. But eventually we caught a mahi-mahi (good, because we'd just finished our previous one). Then Britt put out the barbless hooks and did catch-and-release
on purpose for the rest of the day.

The next day we sailed again, and this time the winds were less unfavorable, so it only took us about 35 miles of tacking to cover the 26 miles to New Bight. But it's a point of pride for us. We don't want to be a trawler with a mast, we are a sailboat, darn it! So even though Windom isn't exactly a demon into the wind, if we don't absolutely have to make the miles, we'd much rather tack than motor.

Today we climbed Mt. Alvernia, the highest mountain in the Bahamas. 231 feet! Aren't you impressed? The cool thing about Mt. Alvernia is that on its top is the Hermitage, a mini-monastery built by the famous Father Jerome when he retired there in 1937. (More about Father Jerome is in our earlier logs at http://windom.netrack.net/logs/2000/05.02.html.

He was an architect who became first an Anglican priest, then converted to Catholicism, and he built and rebuilt many churches in the Bahamas.)

The Hermitage is reached up a path with steps carved from the native limestone, punctuated with stations of the cross. At the top, the buildings are not quite full scale, barely large enough to squeeze a few people in at a time. It's an impressive structure in an unlikely location, proof of both the builder's skill and his faith.

After our arduous trek, we had lunch at the Bluebird Restaurant, which had been partly taken over by FNM party supporters in red t-shirts and hats; although the PLP candidate for MP from Cat Island won the election, overall FNM won more seats and therefore won the race for Prime Minister. We heard firecrackers and horn honking all night for two days as people celebrated!
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/05/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

A little yellow sportfishing boat named Warrior was anchored at New Bight on Cat Island when we arrived. We stopped by to introduce ourselves when we dinghied in to go on our hike, for three reasons. First of all, they are pretty much the first sportfish we'd seen actually anchored out in the Bahamas; most sportfish head for the marinas. Second, we recognized the boat as one that had stopped the night at Little San Salvador while we were there, and that meant they were going in our direction;
most cruising boats are going north now, not south, so we have really missed out on the usual social aspect of cruising. And finally, their homeport is Pierre SD. Ocean boaters from landlocked western states, unite!

It turned out that Sue and Don were pretty much at their destination for their trip, as the fishing off Cat Island is what they come for. Which is a pity, because although they're a lot older than us, they were great fun to talk with. They're fishermen who cruise, and we're cruisers who fish - so we have a lot in common.

They invited us to go fishing with them for a day, and we were eager to accept. We've seen a lot of sportfishing boats but their workings are a mystery to us. We fish a lot - well, Britt fishes a lot, and I occasionally reel in a fish, plus it takes both of us to get a big one aboard - but we aren't experts by any means. We're just sailing from one place to the next, and incidentally hanging out a few lines. But Don and Sue are here to fish, and nothing but.

And wow, do they fish! Bahamian regulations specify no more than six fishing lines, and I'd always wondered how anyone could possibly manage that many. (We use two at a time, and we've gotten them tangled several times.) Warrior's six lines lace through various extension poles and their outriggers (we always wondered what they were for!) in an intricate arrangement; then there are another four teasers, hookless lures for attracting fish. Imitation fish and squid bounce and dive, glitter, wiggle,
swivel, shine. Here, fishie fishie!

We have rods. They have RODS. Our reels are big, theirs are GINORMOUS. When we hook a big fish, whoever's reeling it in hooks a cushion behind the winch and straddles it, jamming the end of the rod between their legs to help keep it steady. The hand holding the rod usually tires before the hand operating the reel.

But Warrior has a chair with a slot for the end of the rod, and a vest that clips into the reel to hold the rod in place, and after Britt and I each reeled in a mahi-mahi we agreed that their equipment makes a big difference. Sue had talked about catching marlin, and we were amazed, knowing how hard it was the few times we've hooked them; after trying out their equipment, now we understand.

Of course, part of it's Sue. She's a large, solid woman, with upper arms the size of my thighs. Don does the driving, and gaffs the fish if they're going to keep it; Sue sets out the lures and reels in the fish. It's clear she adores doing it, although oddly, she doesn't actually like fish, so they do mostly catch-and-release.

On our outing, we kept two mahi, as the Bluebird restaurant in New Bight had asked for some. I reeled in one, Britt reeled in two, and Sue reeled in three. She was hoping for a marlin (and I was hoping for a tuna!) but we saw none. We did, however, see a very big oceanic white-tip shark cruise through the array of lures, which was really really cool.

It was a nearly windless day, so for lunch we decided to work our way into the little bay called Reef Harbour on the charts. None of our charts had any detail about it, but Warrior had seen other boats anchored there and had always wondered about it, and of course Britt and I are always up for exploring uncharted, scary entrances in OTHER people's boats.

Pretty much it was a case of finding where there weren't any breakers, and then scootching up to see the lay of the, er, water. Which is astoundingly easy from the upper deck of a sportfish, waaaayy up above the water. The reefs were clearly visible, and we found our way in and anchored for lunch.

Afterward, we fished a little more, then fished our way home to the anchorage. Warrior came alongside Windom and dropped us off; it was nearly 7 pm, and we were exhausted. We showered, had dinner (fish, of course!) and fell into bed.
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/05/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment

We spent three days in Little San Salvador, walking on the island in the morning and snorkeling in the afternoon. The water there is astonishingly clear, and over the white sand bottom of the anchorage it is an incredible luminous blue. It's the color we associate with the Bahamas, and since the Abacos and Eleuthera tend to grassy bottoms which make the water look green, it wasn't until Little San Salvador that we really felt like yes, we are here, we are in the Bahamas.

The snorkeling was good but not great, with only a few really good structured heads coming up from the sand bottom. Since we had the mahi-mahi we caught off Eleuthera, we weren't hunting, so instead we worked on our free diving skills, pushing our depths deeper and deeper. By the third day we were diving to 50 feet. (Well, Britt was diving to 50 feet and hanging out. I was diving to 50 feet, taking a quick look around, then desperately heading to the surface for air.)

We did see several large hogfish, which are tasty and easy to spear and therefore a measure of local fishing pressure. Also grouper, including one very big one; a school of Atlantic Spadefish which let us get surprisingly close; and what looked like a lionfish, although to our knowledge they're Pacific, not Atlantic fish. It wasn't in our fish books, so we're really curious. It's a gorgeous fish, all showy stripes and "feathers", and our photo doesn't really do it justice, alas. (Photos to come,
I promise!)

Then on Tuesday morning the cruise ship came in, so it was time to go. We watched it anchor, then pulled out our own and set sail, playing the part of scenery for the passengers.

We sailed 40 miles that day, almost none of it actually toward our day's destination which was Bennett's Harbour on Cat Island, 16 miles away. The winds were obnoxious, not only out of the wrong direction but shifting frequently, and our GPS track looks like a drunkard's. On the other hand, we did a LOT of fishing.

But as any fisherman knows, fishing and catching are two different things. We lost three lures as fish broke the line; I had a fourth almost to the boat and it leapt up, slacking the line and looping it around our wind generator, which let it jerk away; Britt had a fifth all the way to the boat, and it butted the hull with its head and knocked free. But eventually we caught a mahi-mahi (good, because we'd just finished our previous one). Then Britt put out the barbless hooks and did catch-and-release
on purpose for the rest of the day.

The next day we sailed again, and this time the winds were less unfavorable, so it only took us about 35 miles of tacking to cover the 26 miles to New Bight. But it's a point of pride for us. We don't want to be a trawler with a mast, we are a sailboat, darn it! So even though Windom isn't exactly a demon into the wind, if we don't absolutely have to make the miles, we'd much rather tack than motor.

Today we climbed Mt. Alvernia, the highest mountain in the Bahamas. 231 feet! Aren't you impressed? The cool thing about Mt. Alvernia is that on its top is the Hermitage, a mini-monastery built by the famous Father Jerome when he retired there in 1937. (More about Father Jerome is in our earlier logs at http://windom.netrack.net/logs/2000/05.02.html.

He was an architect who became first an Anglican priest, then converted to Catholicism, and he built and rebuilt many churches in the Bahamas.)

The Hermitage is reached up a path with steps carved from the native limestone, punctuated with stations of the cross. At the top, the buildings are not quite full scale, barely large enough to squeeze a few people in at a time. It's an impressive structure in an unlikely location, proof of both the builder's skill and his faith.
- posted by S/V Windom @ 5/03/2007 [link]  0 comments Post a Comment