We made New Smyrna Beach about 7:45 May 15, having traveled for nine and one half hours, nearly one-half under sail up the narrow channel in the broad bodies of water of the Indian River and Mosquito Lagoon. We were the last to be seated at a restaurant called the Deli which served extraordinary dinners. On Friday, we reached Palm Coast after a seven hour trip with about three hours of sailing in the persistent southwest wind, and tied up at one of those carved-out-of-the-land square marinas surrounded by condominiums. We were referred to a faux St. Mark’s Square a ten minute walk away that offered several dinner options.
It was buildings with balconied windows surrounding a triangular area, a three-sided big screen TV in the middle playing the Celtics playoff game, a DJ on the stage beneath, bars, restaurants, shops, and lots of people. We had another delicious meal at an Italian restaurant, and remain rather awestruck by the reasonable prices, fresh produce, and interesting flavors compared to the Bahamas. People were enjoying themselves.
On Saturday, May 17, we made a 22 mile hop to St. Augustine and did a trolley tour with a good guide and we realized how much we missed on our first visit in January, seemingly eons ago. That evening, Debbie, a life-long friend of Steffi’s and Charlie’s who lives in St. Augustine, joined us on Journey before we all left for dinner. A bird decided to leave a rather huge calling card, most of which landed on the bimini, but some reached the cockpit, hitting Debbie’s slacks, to which she commented: “That’s a real party pooper”.
Now it seems is the hard part. We cast off from St. Augustine yesterday morning with waves to Steffi, Charlie and Debbie who will drive them to Jacksonville Airport. They would be home in Boston by that evening, and we on Journey are weeks away. We cleared the St. Augustine temporary aerial bridge at 9:00 and went with the considerable tidal current out the St. Augustine inlet to sea, plotting courses for Charleston, 179 nm, Cape Fear, 289, NM and Beaufort, North Carolina, 369 nm, courses that would take from 32 to 67 hours to complete by sea, cutting days from our travel time.
Our auto pilot of late has been limping along. We can’t seem to align the compass, but can still set a northwesterly course and it will hold it. As we set the course of 32 degrees magnetic for Charleston, the autopilot stopped working with a message saying “no data”. We have gone through the alignment process several times which consists of driving at least two circles in calm waters while it shows a little orbiting motion on its screen. The result has been a huge 42 degree compass deviation. It should be less than ten. A call to Raymarine from the Bahamas, advised how to check resistance between several wires where the fluxgate compass connects to its black box computer to see if the compass is working. More than I wanted to do, and if we found it wasn’t working there would have been little chance to get a repair in the Bahamas.
It held well on the passage from the Bahamas to Port Canaveral, but now we couldn’t use it for just the two of us on a passage, and it really is an important third hand to allow a loan person on watch to adjust sails, go below to check the radar, adjust the radio and other tasks that take you away from the helm while the other crew member is fast asleep. So instead of a passage we made for Fernandina Beach, 40 miles away, the wind on a close reach and freshening and freshening and freshening.
The forecast had called for west to southwest winds 15 to 20. They were 20 and more. By the time we turned into the St. Mary’s River inlet they were blowing on our nose to near gale force, once hitting 37 knots. We had a two-and-one-half knot current with us, thank heavens, as we would stall to one or two knots, pushing into sharp steep seas that would blow spray over the boat, soaking it and us, but never broke over Journey. It lasted over 45 minutes until we could turn south towards Fernandina Harbor Marina. They told us we would be on the inside of the breakwater about six boats down. When we made the u- turn into the marina and the lee of the breakwater, the water was flat, the wind was on our beam at over twenty, blowing us off the dock and we had a two-knot current behind us. As we moved along the row of boats on our port, we came across dock hands and spontaneous volunteers, not at the end of the row of boats, but standing between two of them in a space that would be small for Newberry Street before Christmas, who shouted for us to land there. Full reverse, watching the prop walk, forward to ease us over, full reverse and comfort coming in little snippets, like the folks on the stern of their trawler in the space that would be just aft of us saying, “don’t worry we’ll fend you off, we used to be sailors”. Then fast forward to bring the bow into the wind and the dock at about 45 degree angle, then hard to starboard with the rudder to bring the stern over, full reverse, spring line, stern line, bow line thrown and we were fast along side, parked snug, not a scratch on anyone. Many thanks offered to great line handlers on shore, AC power plugged in and then the nicest thing. It was 7:30. The couple in that trawler walked along side with a bottle of red wine, glasses in their hands, invited us to grab two glasses and poured a delicious Chianti that he, Hal, had made. Hal and Janet didn’t visit long. They knew we were beat, grubby and tired, so politely didn’t linger past a half of glass consumed. I now realize how doubly thoughtful they were in suggesting we grab our own glasses. We were reminded again of why we do this: the surprising, generous gestures of hospitality offered again and again by people who share the bond of being daily, visibly, constantly challenged by the sea.
On Monday, May 19, we thought about laying over a day to catch our breath after 10 days straight underway, including the strenuous overnight passage from the Bahamas to Florida. But we awakened to remarkably diminished winds, and decided to press on, frustrated with our passage making being thwarted by the erratic auto pilot, anxious about our timing that would put us near a shoal area on Jekyll Creek, near Brunswick, GA, at low tide, and fussing at each other. Southwest winds built during the day and a swarm of green heads hung and buzzed beneath the bimini and migrated below, but didn’t bite. We put our screens in the passageway to limit the number who could lurk for us in the salon. It got hotter, but we were able to sail and motor sail depending on the coil we traveled of serpentine Georgia section of the ICW.
About noon we turned a bend into the dreaded shoal section of Jekyll Creek and approaching us was a barge pushed by a tug boat. We radioed and got good advice. We should pass on “two whistles”, starboard to starboard, and we should pass him as close as possible. He would not be making any sudden changes. We did as told and were side by side in the shallowest section, his propellers churning mud. He then radioed that we were past the worse part. A threat became a comfort.
We crossed Brunswick Harbor and continued to snake through the Georgia marshlands to an anchorage just off the waterway on New Teakettle Creek near mile marker 645 (from Norfolk) on the ICW. Our anchor was down at 6:35 and we had traveled 71 statute miles over the land, or 61.7 nautical miles, but our trip log showed that the boat had traveled 70 nautical miles. The reason for the difference is the extraordinary tidal currents of the Georgia coast, frequently reaching two knots and occasionally more. The current shifts in direction and force are affected by the state of the flood or ebb of the tide, and the boats proximity to inlets, large or small, to the ocean. We literally turn a corner and go from one-and-a half knots of current on our nose, to one-and-a-half knot pushing us, changing our speed over the ground by three knots, while the knot meter showing progress through the water reads the same. Cruising guides suggest not trying to play the currents, as they tend to average out.
This was a breathtakingly beautiful anchorage. We were alone, surrounded by miles of marsh. The wind went calm. The sun set red. The full moon rose orange and we slept well.
On May 20, strong winds again from the west and south west so we sailed and motor sailed 61nm to the Hinckley Boat Yard in Thunderbolt near Savanah with hopes of getting the autopilot fixed and all fluids and filters changed in the engine. We were tied up at 5:30 and soon after a fellow stopped by and introduced himself as Bob Crockett, son of the Crockett of Crockett’s Victory Garden. His wife is in Florida where they are selling their house and will be moving aboard a Hans Christian Bob has been refitting in Savanah. He asked if we would like to join him for dinner and offered to drive us to a nearby restaurant in Thunderbolt. We learned he is a dual citizen of the US and Canada, and was a boat builder for most of his career in Nova Scotia near Lunenburg. He moved from wooden boats to aluminum, and built two of Canada’s 12-meter entries into the America’s cup. The move to Florida was to continue building boats there, but that career waned and he became a “life coach”. They plan to cruise awhile, but then resettle in Nova Scotia. They may be another arrival in Teel Cove this summer.
Hinckley’s electrician knew less about the autopilot than we did. We orbited Journey for nearly two hours while he repositioned the location of the fluxgate compass, then unhooked ours and tried his own spare compass, all to know avail. I called Raymarine again in frustration, described the symptoms to a technician. The Autopilot has two compasses. One is the fluxgate, which we had tested and it was fine. The other is a gyrocompass built into the black box. The fluxgate was all that autopilots had for years. The gyrocompass adds more refined corrections and additional functions. He told me how to open the box and unplug the gyrocompass. We now need to orbit those circles again to see if we can get it working with fluxgate alone.
We left Hinckley about three yesterday and traveled 15.4nm to anchor on the Cooper River just across the border of South Carolina near mile marker 578. As we approached there was a small boat pulling kids on a tube. All around were dolphins and as the kids were getting off of the tube into the boat, two dolphins were by them, heads out of the water and, as M. wrote in an e-mail to a friend last night, looked as if they were carrying on a conversation. It was another, beautiful quiet anchorage and on the way out, noticed the only other boat was from Boston. We hollered as we went by to learn he was based at Constitution Marina, three blocks from our house. Our HOUSE!
So why is this the hard part? Even in the abundance of this experience we have moments of longing for home, that place that can never be what we imagine it to be. Bill S. comment last fall observing boats on the ICW look like the march of the escargot comes back to us. We are a snail it seems crawling along days behind an arbitrary schedule. Our longing tunnels vision to straight ahead, northeast, and then we don’t see what is at hand until we are given sight again by the dockhands, the spontaneous dispensers of wine in safe harbors, drivers to dinner, and beautiful anchorages. They bring us back to the gift of the moment, and living there is the only truly lasting home we will ever have.
We tried to align the auto pilot one more time yesterday. We’ve placed another call to Raymarine and maybe we can get the course correction computer replaced in Norfolk. The anchor was set last night about a mile off of the North Edisto River on Tom Point Creek. Again, all alone except for the abundance of acres, birds, dolphins whose each breath we could hear, and acres of marsh grass brilliant green at its base with golden tops. Tonight is a marina night near Charleston, SC, for laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, in other words, the stuff of life. Such a contrast.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
We're back....
May 15, 2008
We’re back! With faithful crew Steffi and Charlie P. we made the crossing from Great Sale Cay to Port Canaveral, Fl, 179 nautical miles, in 28 hours with the engine on for only two-and-one-half hours. Winds were more northerly than recommended to cross the north-flowing Gulf Stream, but we had little choice. The forecast was for seas to grow the rest of the week in a building, northeast swell being generated by a powerful low pressure north east of the Bahamas. Another cold front was forecast to come off of the east coast tomorrow, generating more north winds and swells. We could have been stuck at Great Sale Cay for days.
It was rough and uncomfortable for crew, but no one got sick. Steffi is iron woman, reading down below when not on watch without any seasick medicine. Charlie took nothing and was fine. M and I used drugs. We stood two hour watches, but doubled up some of the time.
Journey was enjoying what she was designed to do. Our Course was northwest. The wind gave us a close reach. Forecast wind of 15 to 20 knots turned into consistently over 20, with gusts as high as 27. Forecast seas of three to five feet built to seven to nine feet, but we were angling across them, not pounding into them. Charlie said it felt at times like we were skipping from sea to sea. Our good little ship with reefed main and jib cut along at over seven knots for hours, most of the night in the bright light of a half moon. She never felt stressed, never pounded and we never had to tack the entire trip.
We spent last night at Port Canaveral in a place called Cape Marina and boat yard. It’s a big, first class facility. Port Canaveral is where Disney and other cruise ships berth. We are required to check into Homeland Security and the recording on the phone line gave an address to check in about a mile away from the marina. We took a cab, went into the offices and three guys in black uniforms, packing rods, sat at desks. Steffi noted later that it looked like a sitcom set. They were genuinely surprised to see us. A skinny, red headed guy was using google and was interrupted by a personal call on his cell phone. A very portly fellow was picking up four pages at a time from a stack of paper and stapling them, and the third was the unlucky guy who had to help us. He was clearly the new guy. There was a short discussion among the three of which computer screen needed to be filled out and once again this crack, Homeland Security agency, asked us for the name of our vessel, its length, make, coast guard registration, our names, addresses, telephone numbers, and passport numbers, all of it information that we have provided by pre-registering with them before we ever left and which they are incapable of recovering on their computers. They never asked where we came from, what was on board – not even if we had been on any farms overseas – and once the information was typed in told us we were all set. Pathetic and think what we’re all paying for it!
Today we left Port Canaveral on a canal runs due west for 5.6 miles to the ICW that requires passing under two bridges and through a lock that is a hurricane surge barrier. It was like motoring through a zoo. We spotted Manatee, dolphins, egrets, and an alligator. Several manatees joined us in the lock.
Last week in the Bahamas
We left Hope Town Thursday, May 8th. Lighthouse Marina changed the crankcase and lower unit oil on the reliable four-cycle, two-and-one-half horsepower Yamaha dinghy outboard. It’s a service job done on our own in Maine, but it would have been too tricky to catch the draining oil with the motor hanging on its mount on Journey’s stainless steel rear guard rail, and then hard to dispose of it properly. A giant Bahamian did the work, his first day on the job since graduating from a outboard motor trade school in Orlando, FL. He fumbled getting the overflow screw back into the lower unit while covering his nervousness with a constant patter about his prowess. He did a good job.
The dinghy motor has been just the right size despite cautions from cruising guides that you need a bigger outboard to move the dinghy faster, getting us where we want to go and burning about three gallons of gas in three months. It weighs 35 pounds so can be fairly easily hefted from the dinghy to its mount on Journey’s without the need for complicated block and tackles.
We cleaned the bottom of the dinghy for the third time since it was inflated and went into the water February 11. Plenty of green crud, but it only took a half an hour rather than an hour when last done three weeks ago. That seems about the right interval.
The last new friends we made at Hope Town are Amanda and Andre: Brazilians, fresh college graduates, caring for Andre’s father’s big catamaran they helped him purchase in Ft Lauderdale this year after a two-month odyssey with his parents in a rented, 22 foot RV looking at boats up and down the east coast. Andre and Amanda were translators and negotiators who had to bridge a tough-talking, no-nonsense Brazilian businessman and smarmy boat brokers. Parents are back in Brazil and will return soon to their dream of cruising and have designated Andre their captain. All four, Andre, his parents, and Amanda, his significant other, are new to cruising sail boats. So Andre and Amanda are devoting themselves to learning the boat’s systems and equipment, and these English-as-second-language Brazilians are frustrated understanding technical manuals written in poor English, and responding to his father’s remote commands. They needed someone to talk to.
The boat is a monster catamaran, 46 feet long and 25 feet wide, built in South Africa in 1999 with the living space of a small condo. It’s called Ubatuba, the name of coastal city in Brazil where they live and a native Indian word that appropriately means “two canoes”. Andre grew up by and in the sea and is an accomplished free diver, regularly cleaning fish that he has speared using a sling. On the cockpit bulkhead of Ubatuba is mounted a striking sculpture of the Neptune created by Andre’s grandmother. The face at first glance appears to be a man horrified over something, but Andre noted that his grandmother said she wanted to create the face of one who lives beneath the sea, and she did, wonderfully,but it is an image that looks familiar. Instead of boat cards they gave us tee-shirts imprinted with their Neptune.
We said good bye to acquaintances and friends at the Hope Town Coffee House and stopped by Epilogue to see Don and Linda who could very well visit us in Maine this summer. We settled our bill at Hope Town marina for the Mooring which we had occupied for nearly two months on a hand shake. Rudy Malone, his last year as proprietor, gave us a nice discount.
On May 8th, we departed Hope Town to discover the speedometer not working, so we anchored outside of the harbor, dove under the boat, scrubbed it off and with dismay noticed substantial new marine growth on the bottom. Not sure if it is a loose wire or growth, but after fooling with the speedometer transponder above and below the hull, it worked.
We sailed on to Marsh Harbor to the second most regular stop, Mango’s Marina, in time to have lunch at the restaurant when we spotted the boat of Browntip Diving services, a guy we’d heard of who cleans bottoms. When he surfaced, a whistle and shouted conversation resulted in an arrangement for him to clean the bottom the next morning. He must have done a good job. Journey seems a lot faster.
Charlie and Steffi P. joined us on the ninth in Marsh Harbor. Their bags were quickly dumped below and within minutes Ray helped us shove off for the last time from Mango’s Marina in time to beat the falling tide and the prospect of Journey resting in the mud. We sailed to Fisher’s Bay at Great Guana Cay, caught a mooring, had dinner at Grabbers beach bar and bounced in the short seas being built by the growing westerly winds.
It was fortunate that the next morning we decided to introduce Steffi and Charlie to the cruiser’s net on VHF as we sat in the cockpit having breakfast. Troy, of Dive Guana broke into the net, to announce that a dinghy had broken free in Fisher’s Bay. He’s the same fellow who had a few minutes before come with his two darling little girls in the boat to collect our mooring fee. We looked over the stern and no Zodiac. We looked behind us and it was merrily bobbing along towards the sharp limestone of the lee shore. I waved to a fellow on the boat not far from ours who must have also been listening to the net, he leapt into his dinghy, came by and picked me up, raced to the shore and we caught our dinghy a few feet from the sharp rocks. Apparently, the all night up and down movement of the boat had gradually loosened the cleat hitch, and while we sipped tea and coffee, it had finally freed itself and slipped quietly away.
This is the second time Troy has saved our dinghy. The first was when his dive boat was in Hope Town at Lighthouse Marina where M. went to do laundry, lost control of the dinghy in the strong winds, it blew under the dock and Troy, that hunk, came to her rescue.
We broke into the Cruiser’s Net not more than 15 minutes after Troy announced the loose dnghy to thank him and the fellow cruiser who came to our rescue. Patty, net stalwart said in response, “don’t you just love this Net”. It’s her life work and it is terrific in its own quirky way.
The next day it was around the infamous Whale, this time in the lee, to Green Turtle Cay where activities included, a golf cart rental, a somewhat disappointing dinner at the New Plymouth Inn compared to our first stop months ago, a swim off the Atlantic Beach and then the departure to Great Sale.
On May 11, 2008 we anchored in the crushed shell and sand of Northern Harbor, a bite out of the southern end of uninhabited Great Sale Cay, three months and one day from our first stop there on February 10, the second day in the Bahamas. We had traveled that day over 60 miles from Green Turtle Cay into a building southwest wind to wait for a cold front to pass and conditions to return for safe passage from across the Gulf Stream to the US. In cruisers-speak these opportunities for safe passages are “windows” and few have been open. It blew 27 knots that night, Journey pitched, we slept fitfully, but the anchor held.
Monday the wind quieted to calm that night. A check of the weather on the WX Satellite Weather Tuesday morning convinced us to leave a day earlier.
As we now sail north bound on the ICW to reach New Smyrna Beach this evening, it’s a bit much to do any digesting of this latest transit from the special place of the Bahamas to the special place of the US and its problems and people and energy and infrastructure and such varied beauty. Suffice it to say, it’s good to have made another safe passage in this very special journey.
We’re back! With faithful crew Steffi and Charlie P. we made the crossing from Great Sale Cay to Port Canaveral, Fl, 179 nautical miles, in 28 hours with the engine on for only two-and-one-half hours. Winds were more northerly than recommended to cross the north-flowing Gulf Stream, but we had little choice. The forecast was for seas to grow the rest of the week in a building, northeast swell being generated by a powerful low pressure north east of the Bahamas. Another cold front was forecast to come off of the east coast tomorrow, generating more north winds and swells. We could have been stuck at Great Sale Cay for days.
It was rough and uncomfortable for crew, but no one got sick. Steffi is iron woman, reading down below when not on watch without any seasick medicine. Charlie took nothing and was fine. M and I used drugs. We stood two hour watches, but doubled up some of the time.
Journey was enjoying what she was designed to do. Our Course was northwest. The wind gave us a close reach. Forecast wind of 15 to 20 knots turned into consistently over 20, with gusts as high as 27. Forecast seas of three to five feet built to seven to nine feet, but we were angling across them, not pounding into them. Charlie said it felt at times like we were skipping from sea to sea. Our good little ship with reefed main and jib cut along at over seven knots for hours, most of the night in the bright light of a half moon. She never felt stressed, never pounded and we never had to tack the entire trip.
We spent last night at Port Canaveral in a place called Cape Marina and boat yard. It’s a big, first class facility. Port Canaveral is where Disney and other cruise ships berth. We are required to check into Homeland Security and the recording on the phone line gave an address to check in about a mile away from the marina. We took a cab, went into the offices and three guys in black uniforms, packing rods, sat at desks. Steffi noted later that it looked like a sitcom set. They were genuinely surprised to see us. A skinny, red headed guy was using google and was interrupted by a personal call on his cell phone. A very portly fellow was picking up four pages at a time from a stack of paper and stapling them, and the third was the unlucky guy who had to help us. He was clearly the new guy. There was a short discussion among the three of which computer screen needed to be filled out and once again this crack, Homeland Security agency, asked us for the name of our vessel, its length, make, coast guard registration, our names, addresses, telephone numbers, and passport numbers, all of it information that we have provided by pre-registering with them before we ever left and which they are incapable of recovering on their computers. They never asked where we came from, what was on board – not even if we had been on any farms overseas – and once the information was typed in told us we were all set. Pathetic and think what we’re all paying for it!
Today we left Port Canaveral on a canal runs due west for 5.6 miles to the ICW that requires passing under two bridges and through a lock that is a hurricane surge barrier. It was like motoring through a zoo. We spotted Manatee, dolphins, egrets, and an alligator. Several manatees joined us in the lock.
Last week in the Bahamas
We left Hope Town Thursday, May 8th. Lighthouse Marina changed the crankcase and lower unit oil on the reliable four-cycle, two-and-one-half horsepower Yamaha dinghy outboard. It’s a service job done on our own in Maine, but it would have been too tricky to catch the draining oil with the motor hanging on its mount on Journey’s stainless steel rear guard rail, and then hard to dispose of it properly. A giant Bahamian did the work, his first day on the job since graduating from a outboard motor trade school in Orlando, FL. He fumbled getting the overflow screw back into the lower unit while covering his nervousness with a constant patter about his prowess. He did a good job.
The dinghy motor has been just the right size despite cautions from cruising guides that you need a bigger outboard to move the dinghy faster, getting us where we want to go and burning about three gallons of gas in three months. It weighs 35 pounds so can be fairly easily hefted from the dinghy to its mount on Journey’s without the need for complicated block and tackles.
We cleaned the bottom of the dinghy for the third time since it was inflated and went into the water February 11. Plenty of green crud, but it only took a half an hour rather than an hour when last done three weeks ago. That seems about the right interval.
The last new friends we made at Hope Town are Amanda and Andre: Brazilians, fresh college graduates, caring for Andre’s father’s big catamaran they helped him purchase in Ft Lauderdale this year after a two-month odyssey with his parents in a rented, 22 foot RV looking at boats up and down the east coast. Andre and Amanda were translators and negotiators who had to bridge a tough-talking, no-nonsense Brazilian businessman and smarmy boat brokers. Parents are back in Brazil and will return soon to their dream of cruising and have designated Andre their captain. All four, Andre, his parents, and Amanda, his significant other, are new to cruising sail boats. So Andre and Amanda are devoting themselves to learning the boat’s systems and equipment, and these English-as-second-language Brazilians are frustrated understanding technical manuals written in poor English, and responding to his father’s remote commands. They needed someone to talk to.
The boat is a monster catamaran, 46 feet long and 25 feet wide, built in South Africa in 1999 with the living space of a small condo. It’s called Ubatuba, the name of coastal city in Brazil where they live and a native Indian word that appropriately means “two canoes”. Andre grew up by and in the sea and is an accomplished free diver, regularly cleaning fish that he has speared using a sling. On the cockpit bulkhead of Ubatuba is mounted a striking sculpture of the Neptune created by Andre’s grandmother. The face at first glance appears to be a man horrified over something, but Andre noted that his grandmother said she wanted to create the face of one who lives beneath the sea, and she did, wonderfully,but it is an image that looks familiar. Instead of boat cards they gave us tee-shirts imprinted with their Neptune.
We said good bye to acquaintances and friends at the Hope Town Coffee House and stopped by Epilogue to see Don and Linda who could very well visit us in Maine this summer. We settled our bill at Hope Town marina for the Mooring which we had occupied for nearly two months on a hand shake. Rudy Malone, his last year as proprietor, gave us a nice discount.
On May 8th, we departed Hope Town to discover the speedometer not working, so we anchored outside of the harbor, dove under the boat, scrubbed it off and with dismay noticed substantial new marine growth on the bottom. Not sure if it is a loose wire or growth, but after fooling with the speedometer transponder above and below the hull, it worked.
We sailed on to Marsh Harbor to the second most regular stop, Mango’s Marina, in time to have lunch at the restaurant when we spotted the boat of Browntip Diving services, a guy we’d heard of who cleans bottoms. When he surfaced, a whistle and shouted conversation resulted in an arrangement for him to clean the bottom the next morning. He must have done a good job. Journey seems a lot faster.
Charlie and Steffi P. joined us on the ninth in Marsh Harbor. Their bags were quickly dumped below and within minutes Ray helped us shove off for the last time from Mango’s Marina in time to beat the falling tide and the prospect of Journey resting in the mud. We sailed to Fisher’s Bay at Great Guana Cay, caught a mooring, had dinner at Grabbers beach bar and bounced in the short seas being built by the growing westerly winds.
It was fortunate that the next morning we decided to introduce Steffi and Charlie to the cruiser’s net on VHF as we sat in the cockpit having breakfast. Troy, of Dive Guana broke into the net, to announce that a dinghy had broken free in Fisher’s Bay. He’s the same fellow who had a few minutes before come with his two darling little girls in the boat to collect our mooring fee. We looked over the stern and no Zodiac. We looked behind us and it was merrily bobbing along towards the sharp limestone of the lee shore. I waved to a fellow on the boat not far from ours who must have also been listening to the net, he leapt into his dinghy, came by and picked me up, raced to the shore and we caught our dinghy a few feet from the sharp rocks. Apparently, the all night up and down movement of the boat had gradually loosened the cleat hitch, and while we sipped tea and coffee, it had finally freed itself and slipped quietly away.
This is the second time Troy has saved our dinghy. The first was when his dive boat was in Hope Town at Lighthouse Marina where M. went to do laundry, lost control of the dinghy in the strong winds, it blew under the dock and Troy, that hunk, came to her rescue.
We broke into the Cruiser’s Net not more than 15 minutes after Troy announced the loose dnghy to thank him and the fellow cruiser who came to our rescue. Patty, net stalwart said in response, “don’t you just love this Net”. It’s her life work and it is terrific in its own quirky way.
The next day it was around the infamous Whale, this time in the lee, to Green Turtle Cay where activities included, a golf cart rental, a somewhat disappointing dinner at the New Plymouth Inn compared to our first stop months ago, a swim off the Atlantic Beach and then the departure to Great Sale.
On May 11, 2008 we anchored in the crushed shell and sand of Northern Harbor, a bite out of the southern end of uninhabited Great Sale Cay, three months and one day from our first stop there on February 10, the second day in the Bahamas. We had traveled that day over 60 miles from Green Turtle Cay into a building southwest wind to wait for a cold front to pass and conditions to return for safe passage from across the Gulf Stream to the US. In cruisers-speak these opportunities for safe passages are “windows” and few have been open. It blew 27 knots that night, Journey pitched, we slept fitfully, but the anchor held.
Monday the wind quieted to calm that night. A check of the weather on the WX Satellite Weather Tuesday morning convinced us to leave a day earlier.
As we now sail north bound on the ICW to reach New Smyrna Beach this evening, it’s a bit much to do any digesting of this latest transit from the special place of the Bahamas to the special place of the US and its problems and people and energy and infrastructure and such varied beauty. Suffice it to say, it’s good to have made another safe passage in this very special journey.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Maintaining and Sustaining
We had a good sail from Hope Town to Green Turtle on April 27th, including that notorious passage around Whale Cay, exposed to the swells of the Atlantic piling steeply as the sea floor shoals from thousands of feet to nil. It proved lumpy, but was no problem and tested a bit our sea legs, idle from sailing the Sea of Abaco. We were going to stay a few days, but a cold front was predicted and we wanted to be sure we could get south of the Whale again to Marsh Harbor to meet Steffi and Charlie next week, so on Monday we motored into stronger than expected southerlies to Hope Town and noticed the engine was running over 200 degrees. We stopped it, it cooled a bit and we reached our mooring in Hope Town Harbor.
The next day, an inspection of the raw water (sea water) pump impeller revealed that several of its rubber blades had broken off. One was lodged in the outflow of the pump. An impeller is a mandatory spare part, we had one and installed it, removing the fragments of impeller blades that we could find. Pump blades had disintegrated once before, and the boat yard in Maine had insisted that they flush out the heat exchanger to remove any other blade fragments that might block the flow of seawater.
The heat exchanger is a four or five inch diameter tube that runs side to side at the back of the engine. It is constructed so that engine coolant – a mix of fresh water and antifreeze – can run through it and be cooled by sea water circulating in smaller tubes that run end to end through the larger tube. Sea water and fresh-water coolant never mix, they just get close. I talked to Darrin the mechanic at Man-O-War who reinforced that each of those tubes needed to cleared. Instead of a hose, unavailable when on a mooring, I could run a wire through the small tubes to push out any impeller blade fragments that might be stuck, impeding the flow of cooling sea water. There are about 30 tubes, each about a quarter of an inch. More intimacy with our special needs diesel.
Removed the round plates and gaskets at each end of the exchanger and used a mirror to see in the ends which on one side are about three inches from the bulkhead and on the other about six. Then by sort of lying over it I could thread the wire through each tube and feel its tip come through the other end. Failed to make it through only one tube, found no other fragments and declared victory as more water gushes out the exhaust pipe and the engine runs its usual hot, but not super-hot temperature.
Then the propane cook stove stopped working and discovered that the 20 pound tank was empty. Journey has for a reserve, 10 pound propane tank that we switched over to, but the stove would only light with a match, not by pushing the button that springs a small static electricity generator that creates a tiny spark by the burner sufficient to light it. Took it apart and a wire the size of a door bell wire had come loose from the spark generator. Reattached, it works fine.
New friend Jay on board Airborne, a Mason 44 moored here in Hope Town, a tall, slender mustached retired lawyer who most recently spent a year in Kosovo helping to solve problems in its justice system, said over coffee that the great thing about sailing is the challenges of problem solving. “Things don’t work and you have to fix them, it’s all consuming, all occupying, I love it.” Ed, our friend on Troubadour, spends hours with manuals and a wonderful series of how-to books that comprehensively cover maintenance and repair of the boat systems that make you go, tell you where you are, allow you to meet bodily needs and, most fundamentally, ensure survival. If your roof leaks at home, you don’t sink!
It’s about as pioneering as you can get these days. Like Conestoga wagons, our home and way of getting places is one and the same, and our wagon train is the cruiser’s net that makes a community of boats through its daily, VHF volunteer broadcast of weather, messages and information. Each morning on the segment called open mike, there are usually several requests by people asking for help related to such things as refrigeration, single side band radios, batteries, software, or if someone knows where they can get a spare part or tool, and nearly each time there’s a response by someone offering to help.
We’re learning a new way of relating to our goods. They’re scarce and fragile. You have to grease the axels or the wheels will fall off. It’s a shift from a user and consumer to being a sustainer and maintainer. It’s a shift driven by necessity, but made possible by time to think, go slow, to work methodically and to get the help of others. You have a week, not a Saturday afternoon, to sort a problem out, and you have a community of people in the same straights as you to help you do it.
While we’re maintaining and sustaining, we’re increasingly maintained and sustained by the people we meet in Hope Town, built around this eclectic group gathered as the Hope Town Writer’s Circle, people on boats and those who pass in and out of the Hope Town Coffee Shop. M. noted that when we’re in the settlement - the houses, groceries, restaurants and shops that surround the harbor - it takes time to walk around because you stop so often to chat with someone you have met before. People always say hello when you pass by on the streets or in dinghies.
Boat relationships begin by approaching in the dinghy and asking what kind of boat it is. Nearly always people want to chat. We stand in dinghies, holding onto the approach boats gunwale, discover home ports, mutual friends, and destinations, but usually decline an invitation to come aboard, but if there’s chemistry, which most often there is, you ask or get asked to come by later for a drink of some kind.
Jay’s wife Luisa on Airborne is an accomplished artist. Linda on Epilogue makes beautiful jewelry. We got to know both independently, introduced them at the coffee shop and M. spent an afternoon with the two on Airborne the other day and returned with a beautiful small oil painting of the Hope Town lighthouse, an icon for us of this journey, and a necklace. In later conversations with all of them, it was clear they enjoyed time only with ladies for a change.
That’s enough for now. We’re headed out for coffee and might see again Allen, Dave, Dave, Jr., Mary, Nancy, Nan, Larry, Audrey, Herb, Sally, Marguerite, Linda, Don, Frank, and of course Heather and Andrew who own and run the coffee shop.
Post script: Getting the propane bottle refilled proved to be surprisingly easy. We had noted that weekly, another old US army LST, a small one, arrives laden with large and small containers of propane. Often small bottles, with the names of cottages and boats are sitting on the dock waiting for it. Turns out the day of our need, an inquiry at the grocery store on the harbor front revealed that the barge would be arriving on Wednesday, pick-up bottles and return by Thursday new. Journey's bottle joined a cluster of others, disappeared, and returned full for the price you'd pay in Boston.
The next day, an inspection of the raw water (sea water) pump impeller revealed that several of its rubber blades had broken off. One was lodged in the outflow of the pump. An impeller is a mandatory spare part, we had one and installed it, removing the fragments of impeller blades that we could find. Pump blades had disintegrated once before, and the boat yard in Maine had insisted that they flush out the heat exchanger to remove any other blade fragments that might block the flow of seawater.
The heat exchanger is a four or five inch diameter tube that runs side to side at the back of the engine. It is constructed so that engine coolant – a mix of fresh water and antifreeze – can run through it and be cooled by sea water circulating in smaller tubes that run end to end through the larger tube. Sea water and fresh-water coolant never mix, they just get close. I talked to Darrin the mechanic at Man-O-War who reinforced that each of those tubes needed to cleared. Instead of a hose, unavailable when on a mooring, I could run a wire through the small tubes to push out any impeller blade fragments that might be stuck, impeding the flow of cooling sea water. There are about 30 tubes, each about a quarter of an inch. More intimacy with our special needs diesel.
Removed the round plates and gaskets at each end of the exchanger and used a mirror to see in the ends which on one side are about three inches from the bulkhead and on the other about six. Then by sort of lying over it I could thread the wire through each tube and feel its tip come through the other end. Failed to make it through only one tube, found no other fragments and declared victory as more water gushes out the exhaust pipe and the engine runs its usual hot, but not super-hot temperature.
Then the propane cook stove stopped working and discovered that the 20 pound tank was empty. Journey has for a reserve, 10 pound propane tank that we switched over to, but the stove would only light with a match, not by pushing the button that springs a small static electricity generator that creates a tiny spark by the burner sufficient to light it. Took it apart and a wire the size of a door bell wire had come loose from the spark generator. Reattached, it works fine.
New friend Jay on board Airborne, a Mason 44 moored here in Hope Town, a tall, slender mustached retired lawyer who most recently spent a year in Kosovo helping to solve problems in its justice system, said over coffee that the great thing about sailing is the challenges of problem solving. “Things don’t work and you have to fix them, it’s all consuming, all occupying, I love it.” Ed, our friend on Troubadour, spends hours with manuals and a wonderful series of how-to books that comprehensively cover maintenance and repair of the boat systems that make you go, tell you where you are, allow you to meet bodily needs and, most fundamentally, ensure survival. If your roof leaks at home, you don’t sink!
It’s about as pioneering as you can get these days. Like Conestoga wagons, our home and way of getting places is one and the same, and our wagon train is the cruiser’s net that makes a community of boats through its daily, VHF volunteer broadcast of weather, messages and information. Each morning on the segment called open mike, there are usually several requests by people asking for help related to such things as refrigeration, single side band radios, batteries, software, or if someone knows where they can get a spare part or tool, and nearly each time there’s a response by someone offering to help.
We’re learning a new way of relating to our goods. They’re scarce and fragile. You have to grease the axels or the wheels will fall off. It’s a shift from a user and consumer to being a sustainer and maintainer. It’s a shift driven by necessity, but made possible by time to think, go slow, to work methodically and to get the help of others. You have a week, not a Saturday afternoon, to sort a problem out, and you have a community of people in the same straights as you to help you do it.
While we’re maintaining and sustaining, we’re increasingly maintained and sustained by the people we meet in Hope Town, built around this eclectic group gathered as the Hope Town Writer’s Circle, people on boats and those who pass in and out of the Hope Town Coffee Shop. M. noted that when we’re in the settlement - the houses, groceries, restaurants and shops that surround the harbor - it takes time to walk around because you stop so often to chat with someone you have met before. People always say hello when you pass by on the streets or in dinghies.
Boat relationships begin by approaching in the dinghy and asking what kind of boat it is. Nearly always people want to chat. We stand in dinghies, holding onto the approach boats gunwale, discover home ports, mutual friends, and destinations, but usually decline an invitation to come aboard, but if there’s chemistry, which most often there is, you ask or get asked to come by later for a drink of some kind.
Jay’s wife Luisa on Airborne is an accomplished artist. Linda on Epilogue makes beautiful jewelry. We got to know both independently, introduced them at the coffee shop and M. spent an afternoon with the two on Airborne the other day and returned with a beautiful small oil painting of the Hope Town lighthouse, an icon for us of this journey, and a necklace. In later conversations with all of them, it was clear they enjoyed time only with ladies for a change.
That’s enough for now. We’re headed out for coffee and might see again Allen, Dave, Dave, Jr., Mary, Nancy, Nan, Larry, Audrey, Herb, Sally, Marguerite, Linda, Don, Frank, and of course Heather and Andrew who own and run the coffee shop.
Post script: Getting the propane bottle refilled proved to be surprisingly easy. We had noted that weekly, another old US army LST, a small one, arrives laden with large and small containers of propane. Often small bottles, with the names of cottages and boats are sitting on the dock waiting for it. Turns out the day of our need, an inquiry at the grocery store on the harbor front revealed that the barge would be arriving on Wednesday, pick-up bottles and return by Thursday new. Journey's bottle joined a cluster of others, disappeared, and returned full for the price you'd pay in Boston.
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