Bye Man-O-War

It seems unbelievable that it's only been 4 weeks since we got to the Bahamas. It's been an easy and relaxing month. The kids went to school every day for 5 1/2 hours. And they loved it. They also attended the local church activities, which they also enjoyed very much. Again, we met a bunch of wonderful people.

The month that we paid to be moored here is up and therefore we're getting ready to leave. The boat is getting tidied up. We will get the fuel and water tanks filled up (this is the first time we will be paying for water). Provisions were bought last weekend in Marsh Harbour (a city on Great Abaco Island, in front of Man-O-War, that has the biggest grocery store in The Bahamas). Goodbyes are already being said...

As always, departing from a place where we stayed for a lengthy period of time, fills us with mixed feelings. Camila is sad to leave the school and her friends behind. But it's nice to know the doors will be open for us, should we choose to come back to Man-O-War in the future. The kids behaved so well that we were told they will be welcome to the school any time. Something that makes us tremendously proud of them.

New places and adventures await us. After a quick stop in Marsh Harbour next week, we'll visit Hope Town, where we'll hopefully meet up again with some friends we made on the ICW months ago. After that it's the Exhumas, with a few stops before that. We keep hearing that the water in the Exhumas is even better than here, something we find hard to believe now.

But for now, it's just a farewell to Man-O-War. Hope to come back here some time soon.

Rattled and Ready

There are certain aspects of cruising that I fear but know with certainty that I'll have to face. These aspects are all related to the potential for damage to the boat or, worse, injury to the crew. From stubbed toes after kicking deck hardware through sinking and drowning, everything in between may fall under one of these fear-inducing scenarios.

Last night we were expecting squalls packing 30- to 35-knot winds and some rain. The probability of damage or injury in those conditions is low, assuming you do your due diligence. When it comes to dealing with fear I choose to take a systematic and over-engineered approach, and that's my due diligence. Fear, of course, needs to be addressed or it becomes a driving force in decision making.

The first logical step for me in last night's conditions, is to find a well protected harbor with good holding. Things worked out well in that regard, since we're moored in a harbor that has 360-degree protection. Also, the moorings here are designed to hold boats in place through hurricane season. Taia is currently moored to a chunk of cement that weighs 2 tons. The chain attached to the cement block is big, much bigger than our anchor chain. So I was satisfied with the level of protection and holding.

One thing I wasn't happy about but could not possibly change is the fact that this harbor is packed with boats. Especially yesterday, since the weather forecast looked so blustery. The harbor is like a can of sardines, packed tight with boats swinging on their moorings, some times as close as 3 meters from each other, depending on the swing angle. If a single mooring goes, the loose boat will certainly scrape its neighbors' hulls and appendages. Time to systematically over-engineer prevention.

Yesterday afternoon I dove and inspected the chain, shackles and swivel on the mooring. One of the shackles didn't look strong enough to hold an aircraft carrier hanging from a bridge, so I loosely joined the mooring lines and the chain with a few wraps of 3/8" dock line. If the shackle parted, the line might save us from blowing away in the wind and into other boats.

Up came the kayak after spending the last couple of weeks floating behind Taia. Anything that was loose on deck was brought into the protection of the cockpit enclosure or the cabin. I checked the running rigging, making sure no lines could come undone; I made sure the jib was properly furled with the sheets wrapped around the sail a couple of times; I put the Bahamian courtesy flag into the mains'l bag and put away our Canadian flag. Finally, I moved the dinghy from its normal place beside Taia to behind it; that way it wouldn't rub against the hull when the chop picked up.

Before going to bed Natalia and I put up and zippered all the panels of the cockpit enclosure. And so we went to bed and read and slept. Until around midnight, that is, when the rain started its meek and harmless sprinkle. Half an hour later both Natalia and I were in the cockpit with grave expressions on our faces.

The scene was dark and loud, punctuated by lightning. With every flash of lightning, we could see neighboring boats swinging and rolling in the chop around us. After each flash we saw pitch black and could only hear thunder and wind while Taia kept bucking her mooring lines. The boat heeled when gusts attacked it from slightly off the bow. The cockpit enclosure, with its soft canvas, groaned and flapped like it might detach itself from the boat any second.

I was rattled. So was Natalia. The kids slept, although Camila said this morning she was awake for a while.

As soon as the wind came down to 20 knots I went out on deck to inspect the mooring lines. Everything was perfect. I took advantage of the lull to open the deck fills to the water tanks, although it hasn't really rained that much.

This all may sound like we were in the middle of a hurricane, but we weren't. The wind speed instrument showed sustained winds of 30+ knots, with gusts in the mid 30's. So it wasn't that much wind, really. And the chop was minimal, since the harbor is so well protected. But it was the first time we saw this much wind while on the boat. Throughout the worst of it, I kept repeating to myself that we had done our due diligence and that cruisers talk about 40-knot winds at anchor like it's a common occurrence.

Of course, nothing bad happened. Thirty minutes later the wind came back down to 20 knots and we went back to bed. We slept peacefully through the rest of the night. The wind picked up again today, but only up to 28 knots or so. The squalls will continue through the rest of the day. But now we're not rattled in the least. Also, the fact that there's plenty of light to see around us makes any fears seem unfounded and silly.

Now, about lightning: lightning makes me shit my pants. Every time there's lightning I'm reminded of a scene from The Thin Red Line. In it, an officer walks around a group of cowering infantrymen in the middle of an artillery barrage. He tells them there's no point in moving around, as luck is the only determinant factor in who will live through the barrage. That's the kind of fear lightning induces in me. When there's a lot of it, I shit my pants and then try to calm down. And when the fireworks display is done I wash my pants. Then the sun comes out and I go swimming and smile again.

Our Austrian neighbors during one of the squalls today. The weather doesn't look threatening, does it?

Yet another daily routine

It's been two weeks since we got to Man-O-War. Since then, we have fallen into an easy routine. We wake up relatively early for our standards, somewhere between 6.30 and 7.30. We all have breakfast together and then we take the kids to school, which takes about 3 minutes with the dinghy plus another 5 minutes of walking to the school.

Camila and Matias in front of the school.

At noon, the kids have their lunch break. We bring them lunch at school and talk a bit while they quickly munch their food so they can go play for a few minutes before going back to class.

At 3 pm, the school finishes and we pick them up once again. We come to the boat, swim around a bit, have a snack, they do their homework and then have dinner. On weekends, we usually spend the day at the beach and then have a movie night aboard.

While the kids are in school Ernesto and I have some much needed couple time. Something that is new for us since we starting cruising. The boat is quiet and much bigger than usual with just the two of us aboard. During this time, we listen to the cruisers' net on the VHF and drink mate, we stroll through the city or the beach, we read, we go snorkeling or grocery shopping and also take care of any boat projects that may have accumulated.

Snorkeling on the Attlantic side of Man-O-War. I call this fish Dory, I'm still looking for Nemo.

The beach where we go on the weekends, called the Low Place. On the right of the picture is the Atlantic Ocean. On the left, the Sea of Abaco.

It's been very relaxing and enjoyable. The kids are really happy and enjoy going to school. Camila only complained once, wishing school could start after 10. They are already seeing differences with Canada and, especially, how school was in Canada. And that's exactly what we want them to experience. To see life, other people, other countries, other beliefs and ways of living, and learn to value what they have.

Life in a small island of about 300 inhabitants is different to what we are used to. The only bank on the cay is open one day a week, for half a day. The cell phone company opens one day a month, for half a day. The ferry with the food comes every Thursday to stock up the local supermarket. Laundry costs $10 per wash/dry compared to the $3 we used to pay in the USA.

In Matias' own words, we're all happy in the Bahamas:

"We are happy in the Bahamas"

Insufficient Senses

We're here. We've made it. We're in the Bahamas. This particular goal is achieved and now we're rejoicing, rapturous. This place, everything it means for us as a family and me as an individual, is heavenly.

The weather window for the crossing was good. As is becoming a family tradition, we picked a weather window that necessitated a healthy amount of diesel and produced minimal worry, stress, and seasickness. Anchor up in Lake Worth last Sunday at 0525, anchor down on the east side of Mangrove Cay that night at 1925.

With a cruising speed of 6 knots, we had to do some old-fashioned navigation work to compensate for the set of the Gulf Stream. We pointed our bow to a point 18 miles south of Memory Rock, the Bahamian landmark where we wanted to enter the Little Bahama Bank. The course to follow was 110 degrees magnetic. The autopilot had no trouble maintaining the course and it was interesting to see the 55-mile-long letter 'S' representing our track. As the autopilot steered its S, we tried to trim the sails to maximise our speed. Although the wind was fickle, we were able to increase our velocity made good by a good knot or knot-and-a-half.

Having an argument with the spinnaker pole. The pole won this time.

 While the Gulf Stream cradled us northward and the engine and sails eastward, we couldn't help but notice the changes in water temperature. In Lake Worth the water was at around 26 degrees Celsius. In the Stream we saw close to 31 degrees! The temperature of the water was a harbinger of hours of snorkeling and swimming and beach-going.

At around 1300 we entered the Little Bahama Bank. Immediately the air temperature dropped a degree or two. Then the water temperature started dropping as well; from 30 degrees in the Stream to 24 degrees in the bank. With some disappointment, we continued our path east. The color of the water, its perfect clarity, the shadow of the boat sliding over the sandy bottom no more than 4 meters under the surface; everything we saw made up for the relatively low water temperature.

Blue and white.

Our shadow is properly sewed to our keel.

As we entered the bank our senses were stimulated to perfection. We were all mesmerized by our blue surroundings. Although the wind abandoned us, we decided to imbue ourselves with the environment by shutting off the engine. We sailed at 1 or 2 knots for a few hours. There was little talk aboard as we put all our energy into staring and enjoying. I wish we had more senses that would allow us to feel more and remember better.

Clear and flat Little Bahama Bank.

The Sun brought us back to reality as it started going down. The forecast had light and variable winds for that night, but we still wanted to anchor close to land, not just to get some protection in case it picked up, but also to make sure we wouldn't be anchored along someone else's track. With the engine roaring again, we made it to Mangrove Cay by 1900. We had another 75 miles to cover the next day.

Momma duck and her ducklings in the Sea of Abaco.

Dawn found the bank in a flat calm. No wind. Smooth surface. And we motored east. As we started rounding the northeast corner of Little Abaco Island, the wind picked up from the south at around 10 knots. With that kind of wind and no waves, we had a glorious sail towards Green Turtle Cay, where we dropped anchor at 1630. Throughout the afternoon we continued to be mesmerized by the water and the bottom of the bank. I continued to wish for more senses.

A little R&R for the crew after 2 days at sea.

The next morning I put on my Sunday best and motored into New Plymouth, the settlement on Green Turtle Cay, to clear customs and immigration. My first landfall in the Bahamas. The process of clearing in is quite simple and didn't take longer than 30 minutes. After that I went back to Taia and we all went for a swim before weighing anchor and sailing to Man-O-War Cay.

New Plymouth at dawn.

Anchor chain in Green Turtle Cay.

There's a shoaling between Green Turtle and Man-O-War that requires deeper draft boats like ours to leave the Sea of Abaco into the Atlantic Ocean for 2 or 3 miles. This is done by transiting Whale Cay Cut, or the Whale for short. This cut can be challenging when there's a north easterly swell. After 2 days of very little wind, the swell was gentle and lulling. The wind died again after we crossed the Whale; on came the engine.

Difficult Whale crossing?

As we approached Man-O-War, I started hailing Hold Fast on the VHF. They know the area well and were going to guide us through the tight channel that enters the harbour. As is their custom, they went out of their way to help us. They came out on their dinghy to meet us when we were still a couple of miles away. Then they waited for us at the entrance and we followed them in. Myron and Dena are our guardian angels, always ready to help and share their knowledge and experience.

And here we are, comfortably moored right next to Hold Fast. The kids have started going to school. Natalia and I get to be on our own on the boat or around the cay for a few hours a day. We've fallen into a comfortable routine and we are loving every second of it. I still wish I had more senses to take all of this in.