Faithful Readers: forgive me, for I have sinned. It’s been four months since my last submission. Four months!!! What kind of a blogger am I?!?! Busy? Well, yes… but not so busy that I couldn’t squeeze in a little writing from time to time. Let’s go with “unmotivated”, and leave it at that.
First, let me bring you up to speed on our current situation. We left our Bahamian home-away-from-home, Nassau Harbour Club Marina, Saturday morning at 6:20 and motored 15 hours to the southwest tip of Cat Island. We anchored and slept for a bit, then left at 6:40 yesterday morning and motored 8 hours to our current temporary home, the island of San Salvador. We’re on our way to Providenciales, Turks and Caicos, where we plan to be from mid-November until at least some time in January, maybe longer. The trip was uneventful with the notable of exception of having the drive shaft of our main hydraulic pump break about 11 hours into the trip. Not a catastrophe – we can run all the hydraulics from either or both of the main engine or the generator. The two issues are that we can’t use the stabilizers when we’re running unless we run the generator (which we don’t normally do), and we can’t get full hydraulic power for the bow and stern thrusters, which comes in handy when docking if there’s much wind and/or current. I’ll be looking for a replacement part, and a hydraulic service company in Turks and Caicos, but for now, we’re still almost fully functional.
San Salvador is in the Bahamas, although the name sure doesn’t sound like it. (Of course, neither do a couple of the other islands in this part of the Bahamas: Mayaguana and Inaugua.) It’s supposedly the island where Christoper Columbus’ expedition first landed after they left Spain, and he named it. It’s a decent sized island – 6 miles across and 12 miles long. Much bigger than almost every island we’ve visited in the Exumas and the Berrys, but much smaller than Andros, Eleuthera, Cat Island, and Long Island. It’s quite remote, but has a Club Med, another small resort, and a dive resort that’s been here since the 1960’s. And it has something we haven’t seen yet in all of the Bahamas: great scuba diving on the west side of the island – the side that’s protected from the typical E – SE tradewinds. That means we can anchor very near a dive site, and can dive even when the wind is blowing pretty hard, because the island protects us from the wind. As a matter of fact, we’re anchored about 500 feet off the western shore of the island, and this morning, we took Killer on a 55 second ride to the closest dive site. Yes – less than a minute, and we were just puttering. And there are at least a half dozen more within a mile, because there is a legitimate wall only a few hundred feet west of where we’re anchored that runs all up and down the west side of the island. And when I say a wall, I mean a wall! The drop-off starts at 20 feet. Just 100 feet west of that, it’s 230 feet deep. In another 200 feet, it’s almost 600 feet deep. And just 1/4 mile west of the drop-off, it’s almost 1,500 feet deep! There are places where it’s even steeper than that – but that’s OK – we probably won’t be going below 60 – 70 feet anyway.
Oh – and the water here is the clearest of anywhere we’ve yet seen in the Bahamas. This picture is of the water we’re currently anchored in – it really does look like we’re in a swimming pool!
It’s cloudy this afternoon, so we’re going to wait until tomorrow to dive again. We might have to take Killer for a couple of minutes to get to our next dive site choice. Fran’s taking a lot of underwater pictures, so I’ll post some later. In the meantime, I’m going to try to catch up on some of the six Visit Reports I owe you.
By the way, May the Cat is now a fully documented Boat Kitty, able to legally enter Turks and Caicos. As you can tell from the picture, she’s SO excited!
One last thing: if you’d like to see where we’ve been, and where we are, you can do so from here: https://share.garmin.com/FollowSmartini. Click the little “+” by Fran’s name on the left side to see our track. If you click on one of the little circles on the track, you can see details about that point, and you can even send us a message from there, via our InReach satellite tracker/communicator.
Most significant changes in life happen over time. As we grow up, we get bigger, smarter, more knowledgeable, more emotionally mature (with the obvious exception of Donald Trump), but those changes happen over our lifetimes. If we start doing Crossfit, we get stronger, leaner, and our endurance increases, but that doesn’t happen overnight. Our most special relationships with people – dear friends and life partners – typically grow over time, and sometimes, sadly, they decline, but also, it usually happens over time.
But some of the biggest changes in our lives happen in a single day, sometimes even a single moment. The day you become a parent for the first time, or even the day you find out you’re going to – those are life changing days. Some geographic moves, especially if they involve long distances and job changes, have the potential to bring on monumental change in the span of time it takes the moving van to get your stuff from your old home to your new one. In an instant, the sudden loss of a loved one changes your life forever. Often, you’ll realize these changes when they happen, but sometimes, it’s only later that you can look back on them and realize what a huge impact they had.
I’ve had several life changing moments and days in my 59 years. I’m going to bore you with some of them now, in fact!
The day we moved from Indianapolis (where I lived from age 7 to 17) to Mt. Carmel, IL, my life changed forever, and I knew it when it happened. A junior in high school, everything that mattered in my life changed as we drove that U-Haul truck over the Wabash River bridge and up Walnut Street. I was no longer around any of my friends, of course my school changed (at 17, those two things are pretty much your WHOLE life), and I would never again feel like I was from the same place as the rest of my family (all of whom stayed in Mt. Carmel until they died, or they’re still there).
The day I left Mt. Carmel for Indiana University was one, but I was so excited about it, I’m sure it didn’t hit me at the time. It was the first time I had ever lived away from home, and had almost total control over what I did and when I did it. It also put me back with some very good friends, which was especially important to me at that time. And it introduced me to the wonderful world of Accounting, as that was to be my major, and would become a driving force in my life. (Ha! Just kidding about that one!)
The day Maddie was born was one, especially since Terri and I had decided early on not to have kids. When we changed our minds, and Maddie popped into our lives, we were in our mid-thirties, so that was a huge life change. Suddenly there was a tiny, noisy, sometimes cute, sometimes stinky human living with us, who didn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time, and who seemed to need something from one of us almost constantly! (No offense, Bennett, but the second child, while special in its own way, is never as big a change as the first one. Been there, done that, got the puke stains on the tie to prove it.) Of course, twenty two years later, when I learned that she had died, it was the single most significant change of my life, and it happened in literally a few seconds, hearing a few words over the phone.
The day I met Joel Kozikowski was one of those days, but there’s no way I could have anticipated the enormity of it when we met. Joel and I would end up being business partners for about 20 years (Allen Jorgensen joined us about 8 years into that), and it was by far the most significant business relationship of my life. It has also been, and remains, one of the most rewarding friendships of my life. He paved the way for me to get scuba certified and become a pilot, and we’ve shared the big boat dream ever since we started making some money together.
Spending time with Fran, one on one, for the first time, ended up being four of the most important hours of my life, but I’m sure I didn’t know it at the time. I was too busy being amazed at how much I liked her, and how much we had in common, and how much I wanted to see her again the next day.
I’m pretty sure I had a life changing day on Thursday, a mere two days ago. (Fran, too, but she can write her own story.) Lemme tell you about it.
Unless you met me very recently, you know that Fran and I have been dreaming and scheming about living on a boat in the Caribbean for at least the past five years. And you know that, although we moved onto the boat well over a year ago, the “in the Caribbean” part of the dream has been elusive, to say the least. A two-week haul out for a bottom job last January turned into five of the worst months of my life (seriously). Then, just as we felt like we were about ready to go, Hurricane Irma (you remember Irma – big woman with a nasty disposition and a penchant for chewing up boats?) came to visit us in Key West. Nothing really bad happened to Smartini, but it was enough that we needed to haul out again for repairs, and yet another short term haul out (planned for about four weeks) went awry, and stretched to almost three months. But then (was that angels singing I heard in the background?), suddenly, on Tuesday, the last job being done by the last vendor* was finished! All we needed to do was a little shakedown cruise to try out all the systems, then get the boat ready for an early morning departure.
(* Vendor: from the Latin scumbaggus, meaning lying, thieving snake who never, ever, EVER gets anything done on time, or within budget, and whose primary talent appears to be making excuses.)
The shakedown cruise went well. We motored about 3 miles north up the ICW to a familiar anchorage where we could operate the anchor windlass (the only hydraulic component we couldn’t fully exercise dockside), and on the way, test out everything else that had been modified or hadn’t been used since we motored up from Key West at the end of November. Everything worked great, but while we were sitting there at anchor, we got an alarm: “Rudder indicator lost”. Hmmm…. never seen that before. Maybe just an anomaly. Let’s hope so, because without rudder position, the autopilot wouldn’t be able to steer the boat. And trust me, you don’t really want to manually steer a boat for 78 nautical miles (unless your name is Steve Powers – and mine is not). Sure enough, when we started back to the dock, I engaged the autopilot, and there was the rudder indicator, right where it should be on the display. Whew!
We got back to the marina, but rather than go back into the slip we had occupied for the last 5 nights, we tied up at the fuel dock, on the outside of the marina. For one thing, we had told them we were leaving that day, and they had another boat coming into that slip in the afternoon. For another, if we positioned at the fuel dock, it would be easy to leave – we wouldn’t have to do any tricky maneuvering out of the slip with currents and wind and such. (If this were a movie, there would be some element of foreshadowing right here – maybe a slow fade to the giant ripples going under the fuel dock as the incoming tide smashes against it.)
While we were prepping the boat, I noticed that one of the two MFD’s (multi-function displays) at the lower helm was looking weird. It was displaying all the right words and images, but it was all white on green, like a failed attempt at coming up with the easiest-to-read computer screen way back in the monochrome monitor days, before most of you were born. The MFD’s display our charts, radar, night vision camera, sonar, etc., etc., depending on what you select. We have four of them – two at the upper helm, from where we operate the boat 99% of the time, and two at the lower helm, which is used only in the nastiest weather. Since this was at the lower helm, and we weren’t expecting any bad weather at all, we decided to ignore it, and try to find a replacement on ebay later. (No foreshadowing needed here, folks – while this was annoying at the time – almost unbelievable, actually, as we were within hours of departure – it didn’t end up causing us any trouble at all.)
We planned to leave at about 2:00 a.m. because of weather. It’s about 78 nautical miles (90 “normal” miles for the landlubbers among you), and at our speed (about 7 knots, or 7 nautical miles per hour), that’s about 11 hours. We don’t want to make that trip if the weather, and more important the sea conditions caused by the weather, aren’t favorable. After a pretty rough several days, the wind was forecast to shift around from the north to the south, and to calm significantly, resulting in a nice smooth ride across the Gulfstream. But the change was going to happen overnight, and last only into the next afternoon. We didn’t want to miss that window, so we got the boat all prepped and ready to go, went to the West Palm Brewery for one last good beer and some of their excellent pizza, then went back to the boat and to bed, with the alarm set for 1:30.
We both slept surprisingly well, given how excited we were. But we were both also pretty exhausted, both physically and emotionally, from the previous few weeks of trying to get vendors to live up to their promises. At any rate, we conked out, slept hard, and got up at 1:30. Made some coffee, re-ran every checklist, added one more tie-down to the dinghy (didn’t want a repeat of our last overnight adventure!), and at 2:37 a.m., I fired up the big Isuzu diesel and engaged the bow and stern thrusters to push us off the dock. And nothing happened.
That’s not true – I wrote it that way to make it more dramatic than it really was. But it SEEMED like nothing happened. What actually happened was that both thrusters engaged just like they’re supposed to, and they moved us about eight inches away from the dock. Not even close to enough to be able to pull the fenders out from between us and the dock. It was as if we still had a line cleated to the dock. The tide had started to come in, and the current pushing onto the dock was too strong for the thrusters to overcome. “Inconceivable!” I thought, in my best Wallace Shawn-as-Vizini accent. Our thrusters are BAD ASS! One of the modifications that had been made at this haul out – in fact, the one that had dragged out for well over a month longer than it should have taken – was to modify the hydraulic system to convert the stern thruster from electric to hydraulic, and to make the hydraulic system use all of the hydraulic power generated by both the main engine and the generator, for whatever hydraulic component you used. Our earlier dockside tests showed that both thrusters were now more powerful than before, even with both of them operating at the same time. And yet, after a solid 15 or 20 seconds of pushing that joystick to the left, we never got away from the dock.
OK, forget “walking” the boat away from the dock with both thrusters at once. We’ll just put all of the power into the bow thruster, and get the bow away from the dock, enough to then drive the boat forward. Nope – even with all that hydraulic power, the bow didn’t move more than a foot or so. But wait! The stern thruster is stronger than the bow, as it has two propellers as opposed to just one. Let’s see what that does! Not much, actually – maybe a foot and a half off the dock, but no more.
How had this happened? When we left the boat for dinner, it was about 7:30 p.m., and I noticed that there was almost no current pushing the boat either towards or away from the dock. “That’s good”, I thought, knowing that six hours later, we should have the same situation, since tides change about every six hours. Well, 2:37 was more like SEVEN hours later, and by then, the incoming tide was strong enough to push us against the dock, and to hold us there like a redneck holds onto his AR-15.
In retrospect, it’s not surprising that even a small amount of current could hold us against the dock and overpower the thrusters. The boat weighs between 85,000 and 90,000 pounds, depending on fuel load, water load, etc. We were fully loaded, so around 90,000 pounds. In order to float, a boat has to displace its weight in water. At 8.556 pounds per gallon of saltwater, Smartini displaces a little over 10,500 gallons. 10,500 gallons of water moving at only 1.2 feet per second generates around 4.65 hydro-juells of power every second, which is equivalent to the driving force of the front lines of the Indianapolis Colts, the Miami Dolphins, the New England Patriots, and several other crappy NFL teams combined. (OK, I made almost all of that up, but the lesson we learned is that our thrusters are not going to overcome a full broadside tidal current, and we need to plan accordingly in the future. This is a rarity – to learn a very valuable boating lesson first hand, without having to write a check for several thousand dollars to have something repaired or replaced.)
There was no point in continuing to try the thrusters at this point, so we shut down the engine and generator and started looking at tide and current info. It seems that we truly had missed our opportunity by about an hour – ugh! But tides and currents are tricky – tide tables are for a very specific location, and often, not very far away, the currents are quite different from the tides, due to the shape of the land that the water is moving around, including the depth of the bottom. So we decided to wait 30 minutes and see if it was any better. It wasn’t. So we tried again 45 minutes later, and 45 minutes after that, and so on, until about 5:30 when we said “Fuck it! Let’s make breakfast and wait for high tide”. (Which was going to be about 7:00.) So we had breakfast (fried Spam on English muffins, a Smartini favorite), watched the current, and when it finally seemed like it was down to almost nothing, we gave it a try. Yay! We could move the boat off the dock! It was finally time to go!
Except, it wasn’t. Because as I walked onto the flybridge to leave, we hear this on the VHF radio: “Securite, securite, securite. Cruise ship Grand Celebration is entering the Port of Palm Beach. No outgoing traffic for the next 15 minutes.” WHAT?!!?!?!? SERIOUSLY!?!?!?!?!??! Is there some force in the Universe that’s telling us not to go on this adventure? Screw that – neither of us believes in that crap – we’re going! What’s another 15 f***ing minutes, anyway?
(15 minutes later, during which we’re both thinking how nice it would have been to have slept until 5:30): Fran says “It’s been 15 minutes, let’s go.” So we did. And at 7:07 a.m. on Thursday, March 1, 2018, our lives changed, as we left a dock in the United States, bound for the Bahamas and beyond over the next several years.
Almost. Because that damned cruise ship hadn’t decided not to come into port, they just did it 15 minutes after they said they were going to. So as we rounded the end of Peanut Island, we could see the Grand Celebration finally coming in the inlet, and every other boat was getting out of the way. There was nowhere for us to go, so we TURNED AROUND, and went back into the port to get out of its way. !@#$%^&*()+#$&$%^&&^%%$ (big breath in) #$%&^%##%$^&*%$!!!!! (See the picture of our track, lest you think I’m making this shit up.)
But finally – FINALLY – the ship passed us, and we pointed for the open ocean. And I’m exceedingly pleased to report that, after 10 ½ uneventful hours of cruising across very comfortable seas, we pulled into Bell Channel (which is, coincidentally, right at Smith Point) on the south side of Grand Bahama Island, and a few minutes later, docked at the Grand Bahama Yacht Club.
And an hour or so afterwards, when the fenders were down and the lines were secure, and we had beers in hand, it occurred to us that, yes, now, for sure, it had happened. The Big Adventure had truly begun, and our lives were going to be very different from this day forward, for the foreseeable future.
I promise to write about it. I hope you’ll enjoy reading about it, and some of you will become part of it!
P.S. In case you’re wondering, May the Cat did fine on this trip. She holed up in the VIP cabin for the entire voyage, but was out walking around within minutes after arriving at the dock, none the worse for wear. Just don’t tell anyone she’s here – we didn’t want to go through the hassle of legally clearing her into the Bahamas, so we didn’t tell them we had a cat onboard. But hey – they didn’t ask!
After an almost-perfect visit to Indianapolis for Thanksiving, we returned to Key West late on November 27. We were scheduled to be hauled out for some Irma repairs and some other modifications to Smartini (we just can’t leave well enough alone!) one week later, on December 4, in Riviera Beach, on Florida’s East Coast. When we came from Riviera Beach to Key West in August, it was done over three days: Riviera Beach to Miami (12 hours exactly), then Miami to Marathon (another 12 hours), and after staying in Marathon for a few weeks, Marathon to Key West (10 hours). We would have liked to be as leisurely on the way back north, but the weatherman said “Nope!”.
The forecast was for wind – and more important, waves – that would far exceed our comfort level for the entire week, except for about a 24 hour period starting Wednesday morning. We’d been watching the forecast for several days, so this came as no surprise, and we had already started to ready ourselves mentally for doing the whole trip in one shot, which would obviously include going all night Wednesday night.
People do overnight ocean passages all the time. Most sailboaters can’t make it from Florida to the Bahamas – even the shortest hops – in the light of a single day, so they often go overnight to arrive at their destination during daylight. We’ve been out well after dark fishing with our good friend Charlie, and it’s not been scary or weird. We’ve left for the Bahamas in the pre-dawn hours every one of our four trips to the Abacos. In short, there was no reason for us to worry about an all-night passage on Smartini – except for the fact that IT’S DARK AND SCARY ON THE OCEAN AT NIGHT AND WE’D NEVER DONE IT BEFORE AND WHAT IF SOMETHING HORRIBLE HAPPENED AND WE DIED?!?! (Spoiler alert – we didn’t die.)
We spent the day Tuesday prepping for the trip and saying goodbye to our new friends in Key West, and planned for a Wednesday morning departure. There was no reason to start especially early, as we would be on the boat all night, regardless of when we started, and the weather wasn’t forecast to change until mid-morning on Thursday, so we got up about 6:00, ran all of our pre-departure checklists, and pulled out of the Key West Bight Marina, our home for the previous three months, about 8:15. The updated forecast was for no more than 18 knots (20.7 mph), and no more than 3.5 foot waves, with a period of 5 seconds, mostly from the north.
As you can see from the picture, our route started off mostly east, then curved gently to the north, as we followed the Keys. Had we been traveling during daylight hours, we would have stayed in close to shore – in the Hawk Channel, which is inside the large reef that runs offshore the length of the Keys. It’s almost always calmer in there than outside the reef. But since we’d be in the dark for much of the Keys portion of the trip, we decided we had to go “outside”, because of the lobster pots that litter the Hawk Channel. We sure as hell didn’t want to get the line of a lobster pot wrapped up in our propeller in the middle of the night, and you simply can’t see them in the dark.
Do you know about the Gulf Stream? It’s a warm and swift Atlantic ocean current that originates in the Gulf of Mexico and stretches to the tip of Florida, and follows the eastern coastlines of the United States and Newfoundland before crossing the Atlantic Ocean. It moves at 1 knot to as much as 4 knots, and is many miles wide. It accelerates as it rounds the Keys and the tip of the Florida peninsula. It’s typically a couple of degrees Fahrenheit warmer than the water immediately west of it. Surprisingly, it has a fairly sharp edge – you can be in it one minute, and a minute later, be totally out of it, when traveling perpendicular to it. If you’re crossing between Florida and the Bahamas, there’s one hard and fast rule: don’t make that crossing if there’s an “N” in the wind forecast, meaning if the wind is from the northwest, north, or northeast. The effect of the wind from the north on the current from the south is shocking. It’s hard to capture in a photograph, but I’ve seen this effect firsthand, being in 2 – 3′, short period, constantly whitecapping waves for miles and miles, and then, in the span of 30 seconds, having it flatten out to a 1′ gentle swell, as we crossed over the western edge of the stream.
But what does this have to do with our trip? We’d be only about five to seven miles offshore all day and night, following the 200 foot line (where the depth is charted at 200 feet), to make sure we were off the reef, and away from the lobster pots. Well, as it turns out, that’s far enough out to be in the stream, as we realized Wednesday afternoon, when we found ourselves in pretty blue water that was more than 2 degrees warmer than the water we had been in just an hour before.
It wasn’t bad all afternoon, with the wind in the 15 – 20 knot range and the seas about 2 – 2.5 feet. A little more than we expected at that time, but not uncomfortable, with only the occasional “bell ringer”. (Smartini has a big, pretty bell up on the upper deck that will ring when we pitch a lot. Pitch is the up-and-down motion of the bow of a boat, which, of course, makes the whole boat move in a tomahawk chop motion. The only time we’ve ever experienced this was last Christmas, when we went to the Bahamas with the crew of the Turtle E. Awesome, as we were leaving the Lake Worth Inlet. It rang about a half dozen times as we powered through the almost-always-rough water just outside the inlet. Not comfortable, but it lasted only about 10 minutes before it smoothed out for the rest of the trip.)
About three hours into the trip, in full daylight and comfortable conditions, we noticed that our dinghy, which rides up on the back of the upper deck, was waggling from side to side with the waves. It’s supposed to be immobile, and always has been, so I investigated and found that one of the four mounting pads that the dinghy sits on had detached from the deck. They slide onto a plate that’s welded to the deck, and are held in place with a spring-loaded pin, and the pin had come out of its hole, allowing the pad to slide off the plate. No big deal – we’d just lift that back corner of the dinghy and put the pad back in place, right? (Aside: my Indian name at Indian River Crossfit was “Can’t Do Deadlifts.”) Wrong. Try as I might, I couldn’t left the dinghy high enough for Fran to slide the pad back onto its plate. So I made sure that the ratchet straps that hold the dinghy fast to the deck were super snug, and that ought to hold it. (By the way, in case you’re wondering “Check dinghy tie-downs” is on our pre-departure checklist, and it had been done that morning. We have never had one of those pads come loose before!)
Other than the dinghy, the trip went by without incident, and Fran and I both remarked about how fast the day seemed to be going by. We perform an engine room check once each hour, and it seemed like these were happening one right after another. This was a good sign – if it kept up, the 13-hour overnight part wouldn’t seem nearly so bad if it felt like it, too, was flying by.
And then, right on cue at 5:34 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, BOB (the Big Orange Ball) disappeared behind us over the watery horizon, and with mostly cloudy skies and a not-too-bright moon, it got really dark really fast. But it was OK – we were mentally prepared, and Smartini has FLIR – Forward-looking Infrared Imaging – so we can kinda-sorta see what’s in front of us, even when it’s pitch black. It’s a narrow field of view, and you can’t see more than a few hundred yards in front of you, but if there was something out there – an unlighted buoy, or boat, or a container that fell off a ship (it happens all the time!) – you can see it. At first, we kept our eyes glued to it, but that was exhausting, so we settled into a “look at it every 30 seconds or so” rythm, and that was easier.
As it turned out, the darkness wasn’t an issue. Neither of us was having any freakiness about it being dark, especially with the FLIR, and our radar, to help ensure we wouldn’t run into anything. What WAS an issue was the wind, which had begun to build late in the afternoon to a steady 20 – 23 knots, and after dark, built to 27 – 32 knots, almost twice what had been forecast. And yes, it had a huge “N” in the direction, coming mostly from the northeast. Combine that with the fact that were in the Gulf Stream, and – well, let’s just say that we very soon got tired of hearing our big, shiny bell ring!
Fran and I both went through the same set of emotions, as we would learn from talking about it the next morning. First, anger at the weather forecaster for getting it so wrong, then increasing fatigue from having to constantly hold onto something and keep a tight core to keep from flopping around like a rag doll. And then, for a brief time, fear. It was rough, and we were tossing around like we’ve not experienced before, and it was unnerving. Fortunately, we both realized that Smartini is an incredibly strong vessel, built to withstand sea conditions way, way worse than we were experiencing, and that although we weren’t going to like it, we didn’t have anything to fear.
Until about 1:30 a.m., when I came back up to the flybridge after an engine room check, and noticed the dinghy sliding forward and backward about a foot with every pitch forward and backward. Another one of the pads had come loose, and the forward ratchet strap with it! Suddenly, we had a potential nightmare scenario on our hands. If we couldn’t secure the dinghy, it would continue to work its way loose from the deck, and we’d have 700 lbs. of boat, motor, and two folding bikes sliding around 10 feet off the water, and eventually, surely, finding their way off the back of the upper deck, dropping onto the swim platform below. A really active imagination might even picture the propeller on the motor puncturing the swim platform, which is part of the hull on Smartini, allowing the ocean to intrude into our normally dry bilge. Clearly, we needed to secure that dinghy!
We have plenty of strong dock lines in storage on the upper deck, but what to tie them to that would be strong enough? Fortunately, I was able to get the forward pad back onto its plate. Sliding around the upper deck on my butt so I didn’t risk becoming a Man Overboard, and always holding on with at least one hand, I got one of the lines fastened to one forward pad, ran it back around the shaft of the outboard motor on the dinghy, and back up to the other forward pad. I tied it off as tightly as I could possibly manage with one hand. Then I put another one around the boom of our crane (the crane that puts the dinghy in and out of the water) and around the dinghy, and made that as tight as possible. Finally, I got both ratchet straps in place, and tightened them as tight as I could. The dinghy now moved less than an inch with each violent pitch of the boat, so as long as it stayed that way, we’d be OK.
While the above episode wasn’t exactly fun for me, I think it was worse for Fran. She was at the helm, with her head swiveling back and forth between the FLIR screen and me, wondering just what the hell she’d do if I lost my grip and went overboard. I had my life vest on, but in the dark, in seas like that, how would she ever find me? The vest has a whistle on it, but with 30 knot winds, I could blow until I was blue in the face and it wouldn’t help her locate me. The vest doesn’t have a strobe on it, nor a PLB (Personal Locator Beacon, a small GPS-equipped transmitter to help locate someone in the water). She decided right then and there that we’d never do another overnight trip without both of those things on our life vests, nor without checking to make sure my life insurance policy was paid up!
(Editor’s note: sorry for the lack of pictures to help illustrate this portion of the story. Cameras were about the last thing on our minds!)
By 2:00 a.m., the faint glow of Miami was visible in the distance. We had finally settled into our reality, getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. I did break our normal routine by not doing any more engine room checks. With that much motion, crawling around next to a giant diesel engine with spinning belts and parts in excess of 700 degrees seemed way more dangerous than simply trusting that everything was OK down there. (It was OK down there – Smartini was mechanically perfect this whole trip, never missing a beat, engine speed never wavering more than a few RPMs, and all temperatures solidly in the green range the whole time.)
At 2:54 a.m., due east of the north end of Key Largo, we made our final turn toward Miami, and within 20 minutes, we must have left the Gulf Stream, because it got noticeably calmer, which makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is that the wind started dying down, too, and by the time we were a few miles off the coast of Miami, was right where it had been forecast – about 17 knots. Was it a function of being closer to shore? Was the forecast right all along, and we were simply east of the zone for which the forecast was made? We’re going to have to learn more about these things, clearly.
At 3:24 a.m., we entered Government Cut, the huge ship channel leading into Port Everglades. As much as I despise driving in downtown Miami, I never thought I would be happy to see it, but at that moment, it was an absolutely beautiful sight. This photo is a stock photo, but that’s how calm the water was that night. We even had an incoming tide which created a nice following current, and saw 10.6 knots on the display, which is FLYING for Smartini. We had made it!
The rest of the trip was uneventful. Before 7:00 a.m., several of the drawbridges on the ICW (Intracoastal Waterway) in Miami will open on request, so we didn’t even have to slow down for them. We had thought about anchoring somewhere for several hours, but our good friend and longtime business partner Joel’s boat was not tied up at the dock behind his house, and we figured we could get there in time for breakfast, so we puttered along on the nice, smooth water of the ICW until pulling up to his dock a little after 9:00 a.m. He had fresh crepes waiting for us!
We spent the day relaxing with Joel and Jill, then leisurely motored the rest of the way up the ICW to Riviera Beach the next morning, well ahead of our scheduled haul out three days later.
What did we learn from this trip? Several things.
1. You can’t trust the weather forecast, so unless the forecast is for NO WIND and FLAT CALM SEAS, we won’t be doing an overnight. Life’s too short for that kind of stress.
2. We need strobe lights and PLBs on both of our life vests.
3. We need a better way to secure the dinghy. (We just bought a different one yesterday – a 13′ Boston Whaler – and have already planned a much better mounting system for it!)
4. Smartini can handle conditions way worse than we’ll ever want to be out in. We kinda felt that, but now we know it for sure.
5. We need to learn a lot more about how wind and waves are different just short distances offshore.
6. May is officially a boat kitty! Soon after the sun came up on Thursday, she came up on the flybridge with us and acted like the night was no big deal.
(If you just want to see all the pictures from the trip, click here.)
Like all ocean crossings (I know – it’s only 54 miles from FL to the Bahamas, but it’s still an ocean crossing!), we spent a good bit of time planning this one. Weather and sea condition forecasts, fuel planning, provisions, and the hundred other details that must be considered for an eleven day trip. But this one was actually in the planning stages for over five years! Because this trip was going to be the first time that all three of the original dreamers got to go somewhere on a big boat together. It was at least five years ago, in the warm comfort of our living room in Indianapolis, drinking good homebrew, that Fran, me, and our dear friend and neighbor Steve Powers started dreaming about traveling the sea on a trawler.
Steve actually introduced us to trawlers – we literally didn’t know what one was until he brought over a couple issues of Passagemaker Magazine. We immediately took to the idea of a big, slow, comfortable, “apartment on a barge” kind of boat on which we could explore the Bahamas and Caribbean for a good, long time. The three of us looked at boats, and destinations, and dreamed of the day we could be living those magazine articles. TrawlerFest became something to eagerly look forward to. Steve and his wife Challen went to one in Baltimore and returned with a bag o’ goodies that fueled our conversations and imaginations for weeks. Then Fran and I went to one in FL and brought back more dream fodder. Then we’d start looking at the calendar to find the next one that one of us could attend.
Then one day, it happened – somebody said “We should buy a boat together – an older, not-too-expensive one, that we can learn on, and try out the trawler life on, and if we don’t love it, we’ll just sell it and find something else to dream about.” Their middle son, Brady, was going to college near us in Florida, and was a certified boat nut who wanted to live on one, instead of in an apartment, so the whole idea was really practical – even financially responsible, don’t you think? Thus, the idea of “the Practice Boat” was born. Our dreaming immediately turned to scheming – what would we get? how big? one engine or two? how much would we have to pay? what brands should we look at? should we wear a captain’s hat or a pirate’s hat when we’re driving it? www.yachtworld.com experienced an increase in load that must have puzzled their sys admins: “What’s with all the search activity in Indianapolis all of a sudden? We’re going to need to bring another server online just to handle it!”
The short version of the ensuing 3+ years is that we threw our money together, bought the Practice Boat, named it Turtle E. Awesome, and it did, and still does, live up to its name. Fran and I took it to the Bahamas three times, decided we were going all-in on the trawler thing, bought Smartini, and sold our half of Turtle E. Awesome to Steve and Challen. But here it was, at least five years after the seeds were originally sown, and Steve and Challen had still not been able to be on a boat they owned, crossing an ocean to a tropical island. That was all about to change with this trip, and Fran and I were at least as excited for Steve and Challen – especially Steve – as we were about taking Smartini on an ocean voyage for the first time.
We had plenty of time for the trip: the Powers (Steve, Challen, Brady and their youngest, Bennett – yes, they have a son named Bennett, too – he and my son Bennett are best buddies) would leave Melbourne, FL on the Turtle on December 17 and didn’t have to be back in Melbourne until January 1 for their flight back to Indy. Factoring in the cruise south on the ICW to Lake Worth, both crossings, and the cruise back north to Melbourne, we’d have nine full days in the Bahamas. Assuming we could do the crossings on the days we wanted to, of course. But at any time of year, especially winter, you can’t rely on good weather (hence good sea conditions) for the crossings. We were fully prepared to wait two or three days on each end of the trip for a decent weather window. But I think Santa Claus, Mother Nature, and Poseidon must have gotten together and decided that Steve had been a good boy all year, and that he had waited long enough, so they told Boreas (Greek god of the North Wind) to take a few days off. We were able to cross over on the first day of our weather window (and later, to cross back on our last), giving us the maximum amount of island time for the adventure.
We staged in North Lake Worth, a nice, big, calm anchorage a few miles north of the Lake Worth Inlet, the night of December 18. Steve served us all jambalaya on the Turtle, we checked every weather source for the thirty-seventh time that day, and made plans to pull anchor before sunrise and be leaving the inlet as BOB (the Big Orange Ball) poked his nose over the Eastern horizon. Fran and I slept well on Smartini, but I’m guessing Steve’s sleep was like that of a six year old on Christmas Eve, every fiber of his being tingling with anticipation for what the morning would bring.
Day One: The Crossing
6:00 a.m. alarm, make coffee, check everything one last time, pull anchor, head for the inlet. Make the turn around Peanut Island, head for the middle of the inlet, and cross fingers and toes that all our preparations would be adequate, and that Boreas had, in fact, taken the day off. At the mouth of the inlet, the waves are way bigger and closer together, than had been forecast. Damn! But wait – it’s always worse at the inlet with wind from the East, as the waves and swell pile up in the relatively shallow water – don’t panic. There’s BOB, lighting our way – no, just piercing our retinas, making it almost impossible to see in front of us. “Turtle E. Awesome, Turtle E. Awesome, this is Smartini – how you guys doing back there?” “Turtle E. Awesome, doing fine!” It’s official – we’re heading to the Bahamas.
It was lumpy / bouncy / sporty / snotty / <fill in your favorite term for a little uncomfortable on the water> for thirty minutes or so, and then settled into about what the forecast had been: 2 foot waves on a 5-6 second period. (The period is how often the peaks of the waves come – the shorter the period, the bumpier it is. 2 foot waves every 3 seconds is way, way worse than 4 foot waves every 10 seconds.) We all concluded it was doable for the 7 hours we had in front of us, but we’d be glad when we were in the marina at Old Bahama Bay. Throughout the day, as the wind would change a little in direction and intensity, it would get slightly better or slightly worse, but it ended up being pretty consistent. Both Smartini and the Turtle are very happy cruising at 7 to 8 knots (a knot is 15% more than a land-based mile per hour), and fuel economy is always better when slower, so we settled in at about 7.5, and watched the miles and the minutes churn away under our hulls.
Good news: Smartini’s stabilizer system, which is supposed to significantly reduce rolling (the side to side motion of a boat), works! Although the waves were mostly on our nose all day, there was enough of a side component to set up some noticeable rolling – just ask the crew of the Turtle. But with the stabilizers on, we experienced almost none of it. Later in the trip, when we had bigger seas, from behind us at an angle – the real test of a stabilizer system – it performed as expected. Yay!!
There was one member of the crew who didn’t have such a great crossing – May the Boat Kitty. Seven hours of non-stop pitching (and a little rolling) left her green around the gills. She didn’t hurl, but we’re guessing she felt like it, from the look on her little black furry face. The good news is, that was the last time she seemed to have that happen, including on the crossing back to Florida, which was about the same in the seasickness-inducing department. She’s a real boat kitty now.
We pulled into Old Bahama Bay Marina, at West End, which is the settlement on the very west end of Grand Bahama Island, where Freeport is. There’s not much at Old Bahama Bay except the marina, but it was exactly what we wanted at the end of a long day of bumping across the Atlantic. It’s a great marina, protected on all sides from waves, tides, and even wind for the most part. That day (December 19) was literally their first day open since Hurricane Matthew. They had suffered a lot of damage, but fortunately, none of it major. The docks were all in perfect shape, but there was no power to them yet. The restaurant was open and served us a delicious dinner that evening, and their beach can be fun for a day or so – but there’s really not much to do from that spot. So we decided, since we still had nine days before we had to get back, that we’d keep heading East to the heart of the Abacos – Green Turtle, Great Guana, and Hopetown, planning to be in the Lighthouse Marina for Christmas.
Days Two and Three: Across the Little Bahama Bank
It’s seven or eight hours from Lake Worth to West End, but still another fourteen hours to Green Turtle Cay. (Throughout this story, when you see “cay”, say “key”. After only a dozen years or so, it may become habit.) There’s a really cool island, Great Sale, about halfway there, with excellent anchoring. After a good night’s sleep at Old Bahama Bay, we set our course for Great Sale, and motored across the Little Bahama Bank on almost flat calm water, with full sun and just enough breeze to keep us from sweating. We reached Great Sale, tried unsuccessfully to find the blue hole that’s supposed to be on the south end of the island, then moved into the huge anchorage on the west side for a good night’s rest. The next day, from Great Sale to Green Turtle, was the same, only calmer. We saw a turtle or two, a single dolphin, and a few sea birds. But this part of the trip – aside from the beautiful turquoise water stretching to the horizon in every direction for much of the day – is actually kind of boring. If you’ve ever been on a cruise ship, it was like the days on the itinerary called “At sea” – but without the buffet.
The Little Bahama Bank is a huge area in the northwest Bahamas with very few islands, and a typical depth of less than ten feet, with lots of areas where it’s less than five feet. See the picture. (By the way, the dark blue surrounding the Bank is a few thousand fee deep!) So although it feels like you’re in the middle of the ocean because you can’t see land anywhere, you better stay on one of the charted courses across the Bank, or risk running aground. It’s virtually all sand – that’s what gives it that color, but it’s also what makes it kind of boring. A flat sandy bottom doesn’t typically attract much sea life, and that’s very much the case on the Bank. So you turn on the autopilot, pick an XM Radio station you like, and just enjoy being on the water. Surprisingly, it can kick up and be quite uncomfortable, as Fran, Brady and I found on our very first trip across the Bank in the Turtle, almost two years ago – but not this time. It was like being on a lake.
We pulled into the anchorage on the south side of Green Turtle Cay as the sun was getting low in the sky. We maneuvered Smartini into a spot among the half dozen boats already anchored, dropped the hook – and thus began our intense dislike of the anchor that came with the boat. It’s a 66 pound Bruce anchor (aka “claw”). It’s way undersized for a boat as heavy as Smartini (83,000 lbs), and with its three rounded flukes, it won’t set in a grassy bottom, no matter how much you swear at it. Brady dove on it (only about nine feet deep, thankfully), managed to get it into a small sandy area, and finally, we were hung. And not for the last time did we wish we had gotten our new anchor before leaving on this trip. Meanwhile, the Turtle dropped its properly sized CQR anchor, and they were hung like the stockings by the chimney with care.
We decided to go ashore, explore the little settlement of New Plymouth, and find somewhere for dinner. It was a bit odd seeing Christmas decorations in this tropical locale, especially the snowmen – but why not? We had a very fine dinner at The Wrecking Tree, took the dinghies back to our floating homes, and made plans for the next day’s adventure – Around the Whale!
Day Four: Around the Whale, and Sweet House
Look at the picture above of the Little Bahama Bank. On the right edge, just southeast of Green Turtle Cay, you’ll see a small spot of turquoise. That’s the spot where the entire width of the Sea of Abaco is no more than about three feet deep at low tide, about five feet at high tide, but only in a few spots. The Turtle has been across that area four times on two previous trips – always at mid to high tide, and usually with slightly tightened sphincters as we passed the shallowest point, near Don’t Rock. But the Turtle draws only 3 ½ feet. Smartini draws six, so there ain’t no way, no how, we’re getting across there. The only alternative is to go “around the Whale”, referring to the route around Whale Cay, which is plenty deep – and which can be plenty dangerous. Because on the outside of Whale Cay is the open ocean. With big waves coming from the Northeast, you can get what they call “rage seas”, as those big waves break over the barrier reef and start piling up in the much shallower water inside the reef. Not even very large yachts – 100 feet and more – will go around the Whale when that’s happening. We had told the crew of the Turtle that we might not be able to make it past Green Turtle, and they’d have to go on to Hopetown without us. But for the second time on this adventure, conditions were conducive to a safe, even comfortable, ocean journey (albeit one of only about three miles in total), and around the Whale we went!
At the end of the Whale Cay passage is the northwest tip of Great Guana Cay, a seven mile long island with a lot going on. Just off that tip is a gorgeous beach, some shallow coral reef, and a little farther out, the actual barrier reef. On that day, the barrier reef was almost totally flattening the four to five foot seas that were crashing into it, making the inner reef nice and calm. It’s a dive site we named Sweet House on a previous Abacos trip with my longtime business partner Joel Kozikowski and his boat, eSea Street. We had decided, with the Turtle crew, that if the conditions were good, we’d meet there, anchor, and see if we could shoot some dinner – with lobster, grouper, and hogfish all in season. We anchored in sand in about eighteen feet of water, radio’d the Turtle to come join us (they had taken the inside passage past the Whale), and got out the snorkel gear.
I’d love to tell you that we shot a Nassau grouper perfectly sized to make fish tacos for six, along with six lobsters. But I’d be lying. The truth is, we saw a lot of groupers, but didn’t have the skills to skewer any of them, and we saw no lobsters nor hogfish. But the snorkeling was excellent, Steve and Bennett got their first taste of real Bahamas coral reef, and we had plenty of dinner fare in the freezer, so no one was disappointed. We motored down to Fisher’s Bay, dropped the hook, and all piled in the Turtle’s dinghy to Grabber’s Sunset Grill for cocktails and a beautiful Bahamian (not Bohemian, Brady!) sunset.
Day Five: Great Guana Cay
Great Guana is about seven miles long and runs NW to SE. It’s the first island in the Sea of Abaco after Whale Cay, so represents one end of Smartini’s no-worries cruising area in the Abacos. (Little Harbor is the other end.) It’s home to world famous Nipper’s Bar, Grabber’s Sunset Bar, Dive Guana, Orchid Bay Marina, the very hoity-toity Baker’s Bay Resort (did you really need to build a freakin’ golf course?!?!), an assortment of other small businesses, and a lot of homes, most of which are apparently rentals. On its NW tip is the aforementioned Sweet House dive site, off its SE tip is a beautiful and protected (i.e., “no take zone”), dive area called the Fowl Cays (where our adopted niece Katie Stanhouse officially became a scuba diver in 2015!), and on the SW side, just off Grabber’s beach, is one of our favorite anchorages in the Abacos, Fisher’s Bay. It’s protected from the prevailing winds, it’s deep enough for Smartini to anchor at low tide, it’s a short dinghy ride to Grabber’s beach, and there are lobsters there! With all that going on, and Hopetown less than two hours away, we decided to anchor here for two nights, so we could spend an entire day exploring.
The Turtle crew dinghied in to explore the island and found some of the amazing Bahamian bread that is, all by itself, enough to get me to visit the Abacos again. After they returned, the menfolk on the Turtle started hunting for dinner among the small rocks and ledges near the anchorage. Fairly shortly, word came that they’d located some, but weren’t sure if they were of legal size, and not sure how to get them out of the rocks. It didn’t take me long to drop what I was doing and suit up, and in short order we had six of them in the bucket – fresh lobster for dinner! We were never more than a few hundred feet from where we were anchored, right there in Fisher’s Bay.
We spent the rest of the day just putzing around the island, and ended it with cocktails at Grabber’s, watching one of their gorgeous sunsets.
Day Six: Christmas Eve – Hopetown
We left Fisher’s Bay about 9:00 a.m. for the two hour run to Hopetown. We wanted to get to the Lighthouse Marina before 11:00, thinking they closed then (they didn’t), and hoping they had slips available (they did). In fact, the marina was empty when we arrived, and we were the only two boats in it the whole day and night. Paul, the very nice dockmaster there, welcomed us back (the Turtle had been there a few nights on each of our previous Abacos trips) and directed Smartini into the only slip they have that’s deep enough to accommodate our 6 foot draft. A few minutes later, Steve pulled the Turtle into the slip opposite us.
When we first got the Turtle, none of us had any big boat experience. (At 43′, and with twin diesel engines, the Turtle is definitely a “big boat” by our definition, since all previous boating had been on 20′ lake boats.) Fran, Brady, and I were able to get some experience pretty quickly, as we all lived where the boat was. But Steve’s time on it was extremely limited, so each time he came to Florida and took the helm, he was kinda back at Square One. Handling the boat in close quarters – in and out of the slip, with other boats only a few feet away – wasn’t something he had much opportunity to gain confidence at. But here he was, pulling the Turtle into the slip with wind from one direction, current from slightly another, and a very shallow spot just off his starboard stern to worry about, with total confidence and competence. For just a moment, I felt a great sense of pride for him, and then I realized that he was just doing what Fran, Brady, and I had done before him only because we’d had the opportunity. My feeling of pride gave way to a feeling of incredible happiness for him. He was, after all these years, finally seeing his dream come true: he had just captained his boat a hundred miles south on the ICW, then across the Atlantic Ocean to the Bahamas, then across the Little Bahama Bank and the Sea of Abaco, and was pulling it into a marina at the base of a hundred year old lighthouse, in a cozy little Bahamian settlement, with his family, on Christmas Eve. “You pretty happy, Steve?”, I asked from the dock. “Freakin’ ecstatic!” was his understated reply.
While Fran and I gave Smartini a top to bottom rinse, the Turtle crew dropped their dink in the water and headed across the harbor to town. (You can’t walk from the marina to town – you can only go by boat.) They returned a few hours later with some fresh bread from Vernon’s Bakery and keys to bikes they had rented. Meanwhile, Fran and I made new friends! I was on the upper deck, putting away the hose after rinsing Smartini, when a man stepped onto the dock looking for Paul to get fuel for his runabout. I noticed he was wearing a hat with the AOPA logo on it (Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association), so I said “What do you fly?”. He looked up at me, puzzled, but answered “A Baron, among other things.” We immediately started chatting about airplanes and flying, and were five minutes into the conversation when he said “The hat!”, realizing that’s how I knew he was a pilot. “You know, I’ve had this hat for probably ten years, and this is literally the first time I’ve ever worn it.” Not the first time that a seemingly insignificant decision sparked a conversation that led to a friendship (right, Richard and Beth?), and a reminder to me to continue to engage new people. Especially if they’re boaters, or pilots, and absolutely without fail if they’re both.
Mark and Diana are from Orlando, and have spent a week or two in Hopetown every year, often over Christmas, for the last dozen years. They fly the Baron into Marsh Harbour, rent a small boat and a house, and remind themselves what keeps bringing them back. We ended up spending a few hours with them, and with Steve and Challen, having cocktails at the Hopetown Inn’s poolside bar on Christmas afternoon. I could write several paragraphs about them just from that conversation, but I’ll summarize by saying these are people we want to hang out with some more! Having a Baron and not being afraid to use it will hopefully facilitate that.
After we gave Mark and Diana a tour of Smartini, Fran and I put our dink in the water and putted over to Hopetown. As we were walking away from the dinghy, I heard “You’re Brian, right? And you’re Fran?”. What? Someone in Hopetown knew us? It was Caleb McDaniel, a fishing buddy of our dear friend Charlie Tudor, there with his family for the holidays. The next day, elsewhere in Hopetown, the same thing happened when his dad, Chris, saw us. Small world!
We love Hopetown, and the whole island it’s on, Elbow Cay. It’s small, but has everything we’re looking for when vacationing. It’s got great history, which is apparent when walking around town. On one side is the ocean, and on the other side is the harbor, so it’s a water lover’s paradise. There are plenty of restaurants from bare bones to barbecue to elegant, and plenty of places to get a cocktail. And there’s Vernon’s Bakery and Grocery. Trust me, if you’re in Hopetown, you want to go to Vernon’s. He makes bread that’ll make the gluten-intolerant among you question your very existence.
That evening, on the dock at Lighthouse Marina, we watched the Christmas classic, “Pirates of the Caribbean”. Steve and Brady projected it onto one of Steve’s Christmas presents, a high tech stretchy screen strung between the two tall antennas of the Turtle. Over our left shoulders was the Hopetown Lighthouse, with strings of Christmas lights strung from the ground to the top, making the biggest Christmas tree in the Abacos. It was warm enough for shorts and t-shirts. You know – pretty much like any ol’ Christmas Eve in Indianapolis.
Day Seven: Christmas Day
On Christmas morning, there were no presents to open, but there was the next best thing – Vernon’s Cinnamon bread that Steve made into French
toast, on the dock, in brilliant sunshine and perfect temperatures. (I know I keep talking about Vernon’s bread, but if you’ve ever had it, you know why!) The only thing that would have made it a better Christmas morning for me would have been for Maddie and Bennett to be there with us. That’s one of the costs of this lifestyle Fran and I have chosen – being away from friends and family. I guess life is full of compromises, and always will be.
After breakfast, we all rode bikes to the southern tip of Elbow Cay, stopping along the way for pictures by the ocean, and a cocktail at Sea Spray, a very nice restaurant / bar / marina on White Sound. We stopped the bikes at the gate that said “Private Property”, and walked on the beach, picking up shells, chunks of cool coral, and beach glass for Steve to take home to their lake house in Indiana. Brady and Bennett stayed with us for a bit, and then decided to push on to the very tip of the island, which happens to be one of the most beautiful stretches of sand I’ve ever seen, Tahiti Beach.
After a grueling 18 minute bike ride back to Hopetown (hey – they have a hill!), we returned to the boats to find Mark and Diana looking for us, wanting to go have cocktails at the Hopetown Inn. We don’t normally drink so early in the day, but it was Christmas, so what the heck! Over the next few hours, we learned that Mark was a fighter pilot, a flight instructor specializing in professional athletes and celebrities, and is now a top secret scientist for the NSA. Diana is the head of the animation studio at Disney. They have a talking pterodactyl named Sammy. At least, that’s how I remember the conversation. As I said earlier, we wanna hang out with those two some more!
Christmas dinner was a buffet at Sea Spray, but rather than risk bikes in the dark, they sent their limo for us – a 6 seat golf cart. The driver was a nice man named Robert (I think). When we were going through the buffet line later, Robert was refreshing the pan of fried grouper and I said, “Robert, you’re a man of many talents – what exactly is your role here?” “Umm… I sign the checks”, he replied. We all thought it was pretty cool that the owner drove the golf cart, kept the buffet line full, and was also probably the chief cook and bottle washer. Dinner was excellent, although just a bit windy (we were outside under the coconut palm trees), and the ride back to Hopetown was uneventful. We had a different driver – I’m pretty sure he was just a regular customer of Robert’s who was happy to help out. You meet some nice people in the Bahamas.
The only negative about Hopetown that I can think of is that, at Smartini speed, it’s three full days from Florida. Given that Steve, Challen and Bennett had to be on a flight back to Indy on New Year’s Day, we couldn’t linger in Hopetown. By 10:00 a.m. on Boxing Day (they really call it that there), we were saying goodbye to Paul at the Lighthouse Marina and heading west. The forecast for the crossing was excellent for the 29th and horrible for the 30th, so as much as we wanted to, we just couldn’t stay. The rest of the trip was, with a few exceptions, unremarkable, so I won’t bore you with the details (more beautiful water, bright sun, great food, blah, blah, blah), but here’s a summary:
Day Eight Our third lucky weather and sea state let us go back around the Whale, giving us a better test of the stabilizers. We ended the day in a perfectly protected little cove on Munjack Cay, a favorite of our friends Beth and Richard, so we were a little sad we didn’t have to time to explore it.
Day Nine Up before BOB, motor all the way to Mangrove Cay, anchor just before sunset. We did that long day so that our last day crossing the Bank would be short, and we’d have all afternoon at Old Bahama Bay.
Day Ten Three hours to Old Bahama Bay, with a quick stop along the way on a textbook Bahamian coral head, where we were able to decimate the lionfish population. (But still no grouper.) All afternoon exploring the coastline and tide pools around Old Bahama Bay, and the absolute best octopus experience any of us may ever have. (That’ll be a separate post, with great pictures and video!) Smoked brisket dinner on Smartini that night – that Fran smoked while we were underway!
Day Eleven: Going Home
Fran and I needed to get to Lake Worth to be hauled out for a new bottom job (that’s a whole other story that we’re in the middle of as I write this). The Turtle crew wanted to get as close to Melbourne as they could that day, so they were heading for the Fort Pierce Inlet. This meant we wouldn’t be crossing back together, but after this long, everyone was confident in their abilities on the water, and in their boat’s reliability. For the fourth and final time on this trip, we needed good weather and seas to get somewhere, and we got it – the forecast had only gotten better over the past three days. At 6:00 a.m on the 29th, the Turtle pulled out of Old Bahama Bay, followed an hour later by Smartini. We were able to maintain radio contact until about 10:30, and both boats were within sight of land a few hours after that. Smartini pulled into the Riviera Beach City Marina by mid-afternoon, and Turtle E. Awesome, apparently eager for some night time navigation practice, motored into the ICW at Fort Pierce, then all the way home, pulling into their slip at Anchorage Yacht Basin about 10:00 p.m.
When you want something for a very long time, and you finally get it, it may let you down a little – may not live up to your expectations. Let’s see if that’s the case here: “Steve, was it everything you hoped for?”
I’ve had a home in the Midwest all my life – until yesterday.
(I wrote this post on September 3, but the blog wasn’t up until very recently. Since we just left the Midwest again – this time, after our Thanksgiving visit – I thought it was a good time to finally post this. BS)
Yesterday, I left the Midwest. I’ve done that hundreds of times before, but the next time I go back, it will be as a visitor, not a resident, and it seems unlikely that I’ll ever call it home again. For my entire life, I’ve had somewhere to live in the Midwest. Continue reading “Yesterday, I Left the Midwest”