The Extraordinary Adventures of Shambala and Taia in the Jumentos Cays and the Ragged Islands

“What kind of fish is this?”

“It's a parrotfish.”

“Is it edible?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

I utter that last line of dialogue under my breath, for I'm talking with a six-year-old. This is an endearing boat-kid who obviously has much to teach me about fish and fishing. He's probably sailed more miles than me, to boot. He's 6. I'm 41.

Normally I would ask Paul, the kid's dad, before spearing the fish. But Paul is many meters away, pole-spear in hand, surveying the reef and knowing which of the hundreds of fish we see are good eating. Parrotfish aren't good eating. That's why there's so many of them and they're so easy to spear. I just ended a life with impunity, without guilt, because I thought I'd be putting food on the table. Now I get to live with the guilt and, more importantly, the dead fish gets to do or feel nothing ever again.

We are snorkeling and spear-fishing in a reef just west of Water Cay, in the Jumentos Cays. The sail to Water from Thompson Bay in Long Island took Shambala and Taia eight hours. For the next few days we'll be exploring these uninhabited islands with Shambala. Two boats, two families, many uninhabited islands, beaches, clear water, and plenty of fish to catch and eat.

Young crews of Shambala and Taia

Paul has been teaching me to spear-fish, and this is my second time wielding a pole-spear in a reef. The first time was a few days ago, in Elizabeth Harbour, where we caught nothing (but we swam with a dolphin for a good half hour, which was a much better experience than killing fish whimsically). But now we're in the Jumentos, and because these cays are so isolated and out of the way, they're not heavily fished. There are all sorts of fish living in reefs that have all sorts of corals. And there are barely any other boats around!

After that sour experience with the parrotfish, I make sure to ask Paul what fish is good for eating. He points at a triggerfish and assures me those are good eating. I proceed to spear not one, but two of them. Not too shabby for a n00b! And on the way back to the boat I pick up a few conch.

The first fish I speared (that was edible)

That night we had a feast: triggerfish, hogfish, conch, and grouper. Staci from Shambala did most of the cooking. The sea is plentiful and can give these two families all the protein we need.

Buena Vista Cay

From Water Cay we sailed to Flamingo Cay. While spear-fishing in Flamingo I realized that around here we can easily become somebody else's dinner. As we swam around in the biggest finger coral reef I've ever seen, we saw a few barracuda and two bull sharks. Barracuda make me uneasy, but I'm slowly getting used to them being around. Apparently they only attack if they feel threatened. A small bull shark that swims by can also be safely ignored. But a big one, maybe bigger than a grown man, falls under the category of “let's-get-the-fuck-out-of-here.” We saw one such bull shark. Thus I came to the realization that spear-fishing can put food on the table, but I'm competing for food with local predators that are at the top of the food chain.

Taia, Shambala, and their crews in Buena Vista Cay

In Raccoon Cay Paul and I went spear-fishing again. After a couple of hours in the water, we came back with a school master and two glasseye snappers. I got a chance to improve my fish-cleaning skills using the school master as the subject of my butchery. Then Paul taught me how to gill and gut one of the glasseyes. We were doing this at the beach with water up to our ankles. While Paul expertly worked on the first glasseye, I decided to rinse off a knife and a cutting board. That wasn't a smart move on my part.

Suddenly, Paul yelped and jumped out of the water. Not knowing what was going on, I looked back and saw a shark not 2 meters away from where Paul was standing. I proceeded to unceremoniously get out of the water, as fast as my legs would take me. The shark had smelled the small amount of fish blood I'd just rinsed. And here I was thinking that I was very clever for dumping a fish carcass and some discarded pieces of fish in a bucket rather than in the water. What hungry creature would smell that tiny amount of blood I'd just rinsed off?

Sharks. Bull sharks. The kind of shark that might have gone for a human ankle thinking that was the source of the blood. Fortunately we both got out of the water before the first shark helped himself.

We ended up spending a good 20 minutes looking at the sharks. And we gave them both glasseye snappers, just to be able to see them thrash in a shallow 30 cm of water. The Shambala and Taia crews were enthralled by these spectacular creatures. The kids ran out of words to describe the awesomeness of the moment, so they came up with a single word that describes it perfectly, a word that is better than awesome: extraordinary. It was extraordinary to see the two sharks eat every chunk of fish we threw in the water.

Shambala and Taia under different sail combinations

As Shambala and Taia continue their trek south, through the Jumentos and the Ragged Islands, both crews share daily activities and end each day with a feast of ocean protein. The adults chat in the cockpit while the kids play in the cabin. All eight of us are having a great time (and a lot of freshly caught fish!).

We are now anchored in Hog Cay, a mere 3 miles from Duncan Town, the only settlement in this group of islands. According to our guide, the settlement's population is a whopping 100. Soon we'll start heading back north, towards George Town, while Shambala goes north west, towards Florida.

It's been an incredible few days; postcard material for those who love to cruise in areas that offer nothing but wilderness. The best part has been to share the experience with Shambala. Paul and Staci, as well as their two wonderful children, have made the exploration of this deserted paradise that much more enjoyable, that much more interesting. To them I say thanks!

George Town

George Town is known as the cruisers' paradise. Up to 300 boats can be anchored in Elizabeth Harbour during the winter and early spring. Some people like it so much they just stay here all the time.

We got there late in the season and therefore only saw about 100 boats. It looked like a small lighted city from the distance at sunset.

Elizabeth Harbour with "only" 100 anchored boats.

The following day, a Sunday, we decided to check out the town. We got there at noon, hoping to find a nice and cheap restaurant but everything was closed. So we quickly changed destinations and decided to go to the beach. The popular Volleyball Beach is very nice. Not only do people play volleyball but there's also a nice pub/restaurant. There's also a place that sells conch salad and the remains of the conch are fed to sting rays that are so used to being surrounded by humans that they don't mind being there and being touched. We saw up to 5 of them and played with them for a while. Camila was really excited about this!

Cami touching one of the sting rays.

Walk to the monument (at the top of the hill). The monument is not very nice but the view up there is beautiful.

Kids from Perry, Shambala and Taia.

Marshmallows roasting at the beach.

Being there late, we missed pretty much all the other family boats. But we met the family living aboard Perry and re-united with Shambala, whom we had last seen in Vero Beach, Florida. These two families travel with two kids the same age as ours. As a result, the next few days were filled with kids activities: sand tobogganing, strolls up to the Monument, playing on the beach, playdates and even a bonfire!

I have to say that the city itself was a bit of a disappointment for me. I was expecting a nice and colorful city, similar to Hope Town, in the Abacos. But George Town is not as well kept as Hope Town. The area with the markets and the banks is not so bad, but if you walk a bit beyond that you start to see something that has become common on our strolls through different towns in the Bahamas: stalled construction sites. Lots of them.

But the natural scenery is worth an extended visit. And so is the opportunity to spend time with other cruising families.

Next in our travels are the Jumentos and the Ragged Islands. Looking forward to that.

Exuma Dreamin' (on Such a Winter's Day)

We had been told that the Exumas are beautiful, with more bountiful reefs, and water so clear you might ask yourself whether you are flying instead of sailing. It's been a week since we arrived in the Exumas, and the more time we spend here, the farther south we go, the more proof we find that these Bahamian islands are indeed beautiful. And we ain't seen nothing yet!

Exuma Dreamin'

Our first Exuma landfall was in Leaf Cay, the cay immediately to the east of the better known Allens Cay. This cluster of cays, Allens being the biggest of the cluster, is famed for the iguanas that inhabit the islands. The iguanas, far from being afraid or even shy, come out to the beach as soon as they see boats approaching. They want food, which is easier to acquire from the hands of uneducated human visitors than from the brush inside the island. It's unfortunate that people either don't read or ignore the signs that specifically state that iguanas should not be fed. These iguanas aren't large; the biggest we saw couldn't be more than 90 cm from head to tail. Some of them are fat, though, and their gait appears tired as they drag their inflated bellies over the sand.

Iguanas on the beach (the two on the left, wearing human clothing, are the most sophisticated of the lot)

Feed me or get off my beach!

From Allens we did a short 14-mile hop to Normans Cay, where we elegantly ran aground on the sandbar while trying to find a good anchoring spot, as close to the cay as possible. Fortunately we've learned to move around these shallow cruising grounds on a rising tide, so the moon made sure Taia didn't remain aground for long, just long enough to cause mild irritation of the nautical ego; nature's reminder that we should always remain humble. Less than 2 hours later we were safely anchored in front of Normans Cay.

Back in the 80's, Normans Cay was controlled by Colombian drug dealer Carlos Lehder. One of his planes, I believe a DC-3, had some trouble approaching the airstrip and the pilot was instructed to ditch the plane in the water. It's not clear whether the plane was carrying coke for later distribution in the US or sod for good Carlos's Bahamian backyard (and I'm not being facetious here, we've heard both stories from different people). Regardless of the plane's cargo, it crash-landed in the shallow waters just south and east of the cay. The upside for us, 30 or so years later, is that Gaia took over the crash site and it's become a great snorkeling spot. We dinghied over at slack low water and had the place all to ourselves.

Aisle or window?

Mace Windu: I've had it with these motherfuckin' sharks on this motherfuckin' plane!

With a bit of a coke and sod aftertaste, we went back to Taia and got her ready for a 25-mile sail to Warderick Wells, the cay that houses the Exuma Land and Sea Park headquarters. This Bahamian national park is littered with cays, rocks, coral reefs, all of them surrounded by the clearest water we've ever seen.

In Warderick Wells we hiked up to Boo Boo Hill, where cruisers are allowed to add a piece of driftwood with their boat's name to a pile that's been accumulating for years. Boo Boo Hill takes its name from local lore about a ship that sank in the area a few centuries ago (I'm not sure exactly when the boat sank and my internet connection is barely functional, so I can't look it up). The boat sank and every soul aboard it drowned. It is said that the ghosts of the drowned roam the island around the hill, making the traditional “boo” sound with which ghosts like to scare and startle us.

The ghosts of Boo Boo Hill

On another hike we did in Warderick Wells we saw the ruins of a loyalist settlement. The ruins must be from the 18^th century. As we walked through the ruins, we wondered at the criteria these people used to select a place to settle. The island is a pile of sand and rock and is in an area in which rainfall is limited to a few millimetres a year. There are mangroves and a few other trees and shrubs. Oh, and the “wells” part of the name doesn't mean “water wells.” It's not surprising that their settlement ended up in ruins. Choice of place must have been quite limited for those people.

Ruins on Warderick Wells

As interesting as Warderick Wells was, the anchorage wasn't very comfortable and we decided to keep moving south but without leaving the national park. We aimed the bow at Bell Island, in the southern edge of the park. There we found the prettiest, most impressive anchorage and surroundings we've seen in the Bahamas. Not only that, but every other boat was moored or anchored in the mooring field in front of Cambridge Cay, about a mile south of our anchorage. We had the place to ourselves! And we were anchored a mere 200 meters from an incredible reef. This reef has all types of corals, growing like columns sticking up from the sandy bottom 6 meters below the surface. We snorkeled this place several times throughout the 2 days and nights we spent there. Unfortunately, and most ironically, our underwater camera succumbed to a flooded housing and we can no longer take underwater pictures. It doesn't matter, though. This place has to be experienced personally.

The good ship Taia in Pasture Cay, Exuma Land and Sea Park (the island in the back belongs to Johnny Depp - we did not see him)

We encountered two stingrays and two eagle rays. One of the eagle rays, sporting a tail that must have been 2 meters long, glided pleasantly right underneath me. It was a magic encounter with a magnificent creature of the sea.

The customary cold front was approaching and we decided to await it in the Big Majors Spot – Staniel Cay area. A big plus about this place is that we got to spend a wonderful afternoon and evening with Hold Fast, whom we hadn't seen in two months (last time we saw them was in Man-O-War, Abaco). Hold Fast sailed away to Eleuthera the morning after.

Myron and Dena showed us Thunderball Grotto, a grotto made famous by a 007 movie starring Sean Connery. We snorkeled around the grotto at high tide. I submerged a few feet to enter the grotto under water. Inside the grotto is a dome 8 meters high and 10 meters in diameter; once I swam through the hole underwater I could come above the surface to breath and be awestruck by the natural structure. This is another place that begs to be experienced in person. There's a reef all around the small island and the openings to enter the grotto are part of the reef. There are 2 or 3 holes in the roof and some people dive through the holes and into the water in the grotto. I'm hoping to try that out tomorrow at high tide, when the water in the grotto is enough to dampen the fall.

After snorkeling Thunderball Grotto we went to Pigs Beach. Get this: Pigs Beach is a beach that has pigs. These pigs are so used to humans feeding them, that they actually race to the water every time they see a boat approaching. They squeal angrily demanding food and drink. They're not wild, though, so we were happy to comply and gave them some potatoes and fresh water. (I can't believe we gave some of our precious fresh water to a bunch of angry pigs!)

Noooo! That pig is drinking my fresh water!

Get away from the dinghy, pig!

The piggy in the baseball hat looks hungry

The Exumas are fulfilling and surpassing our expectations. The water is crystal clear, the marine life is abundant and colourful, the snorkeling is beyond compare. This is cruising. This is not a dream, this is real.

Bye Abacos

We left Hope Town on Saturday March 15. The plan was to do a quick stop at Marsh Harbour to do some provisioning and then head south to the Exumas.

The quick stop at Marsh Harbour ended up taking a lot longer than planned due to bad weather. With strong winds coming from the south, heading to the Exumas was out of the question. We didn't want to stay in Marsh Harbour either. The bay, although big, is usually packed with boats. When strong winds are predicted we usually prefer, when possible, to drop anchor in a protected bay where Taia is not going to have other boats at close proximity. The reason for this is simple: if we drag anchor, we don't want to hit other boats. If other boats drag anchor, we don't want to get hit.

In the span of a week we stayed at Archers Cay, Red Bay, Tavern Cay, Pelican Cay, Tilloo Cay and Lynyard Cay.

We finally got a nice weather window to cross the 57 nm on the Atlantic side to Royal Island, on the east side of Eleuthera, on Sunday March 24. On Monday we were treated to a beautiful and hot day. We checked out the small island, including the ruins of a 1950's resort that never came to be. We also went to the beach.

Walking around Royal Island.

Ruins of a 1950 resort.

We saw lots of this little guy here.

The plan was to stay in Royal Island for a few days, until the strong winds abated. Once again, the plan had to be changed due to the weather.

After a few days of strong winds and nothing else to do on the deserted island, we decided to find a new anchorage. We ended up going to Current Settlement and walked around the beautiful town. We went to the store to do some provisioning again and visited the local library. We met Sue, the lovely lady that runs the library and ended up staying there for a few hours where the kids read and even got a few books as a gift.

Playing in yet another playground, Current Settlement.

In front of the local library.

We are watching the weather closely. It looks like we might be able to cross the final 50 nm to the Exumas on Sunday or Monday. We'll keep our fingers crossed.

Life and Death of a Conch

A conch is a gastropod. Gastropods have a soft body and grow a protective shell around the body. The Sea of Abaco is the perfect environment for these gastropods to thrive. Additionally, conch is a great source of healthy protein. And, as if that weren't enough, the shells can be beautiful and make for great decoration. Garden paths lined with shells are quite common here in the Abacos. Finally, the shells can be converted into conch horns, the precursor to the dreaded vuvuzela (or, like we call them in Argentina since long before they became popular during the 2010 World Cup, corneta).

The previous paragraph summarizes the few hard facts we've learned about conch since arriving in The Bahamas. But the more interesting aspect about our conch experience is how the friends we've made introduced us to conch and the culture around it. One by one, our friends furnished us with information about this gastropod. It's been an experience of discovery and friendship. The kind of experience I hoped to have when I dreamed about cruising.

Upon arriving in Man-O-War, Myron and Dena told us they'd been conching (the act of picking up live conch from the sea bed) and gave the kids a couple of discarded shells. They taught us how to clean the shells and told us about the different ways conch can be prepared for eating. A few days later they gave us some of Dena's delicious conch salsa; that's Dena's own recipe. I made conch salsa omelette... yum.

Conch salsa omelette

When we took part on our first dinghy drift, we learned about the Bahamian tradition of blowing a conch horn at sunset. A sort of Sun salutation. Anchorages around the Sea of Abaco sound like a tame football stadium when the Sun gives its last beams of the day.

One night we were visiting Art and Vicki on Don Quixote, and Art showed me what a conch horn looks like and told me how it can be made. Then we met Kim and Les on Willamia and wondered at Les's ability at making a conch howl evenly for several seconds at a time. I had the information on how to make a conch horn, had seen a couple of working samples, and that was enough to get my restless hands to work.

Tools of the conch horn maker

A proper conch horn is made with a discarded conch shell, sealing the hole that's chipped away when extracting the conch from the shell, and cutting off the spire of the shell to make a blow hole. Sounds simple. Out came the hacksaw and the epoxy. My first attempt at making one wasn't quite successful. Barry from Beach Cruiser came around for a visit and checked out my handy work. He gave me some advice on how to improve it and I got to work on the second shell. The second one was successful. I may have had to get technological the second time around, and may have used a Dremel to make sure the blow hole was the right size and shape.

Don't chip away any more than necessary!

Another thing Barry did is describe what a good place to find adult conch looks like. He mentioned 5 to 6 meters of water, on or around a grassy patch, and close to or in a cut. A cut is a place where the Sea of Abaco and the Atlantic Ocean meet. When we were relaxing on Tahiti Beach a couple of days ago I realized that I could dinghy out to Tilloo Cut in a few minutes. I didn't have my snorkeling gear, just a pair of goggles. Away I went to the cut.

It took me a few minutes to spot and pick up a couple of adult conch. The adults are identified by the size of the shell and the thickness of the lip. The bigger the shell and thicker the lip, the older they are. And here's where Melissa and K from Morning Star come in. Melissa was paddling around the cut that morning, so I went over and proudly showed her my catch. I needed someone to tell me how to clean and cook the conch. She suggested we get together that night and they would show us how to process the day's catch. She also said I should go back for more to make sure we had enough for both families.

While K taught me how to clean the conch, Melissa and Natalia got everything ready to make cracked conch. The cleaning is somewhat challenging for a city boy like me. My first concern was the fact that I would be ending a few lives. I made sure I said sorry to the conch I killed before plunging the knife. Regardless of my meaningless apology, the conch died silently and, hopefully, quickly. I choose to think the conch knew how Gaia works; we're all part of the same organism and dying to feed each other is just the way Gaia stays alive. Right?

K (right) taught Mike (centre) and me how to clean conch while Natalia supervised (photo by Melissa Guinness)

Then came the dirty steps. After removing the conch from the shell, tissue needs to be cut off, skin needs to be peeled off. This also involved eating a transparent noodle-looking thing that we pulled out of the body. K said real Bahamians eat the noodle while they clean the conch. Lore maintains the noodle is an aphrodisiac. I could not let it go to waste. It tastes like salty goo. The wine we had that night may have been more of an aphrodisiac than the noodle.

Skinning conch with my teeth (photo by Melissa Guinness)

Yet again the culture around the conch made life interesting and fun. We ate good food, but more importantly, we shared this good food with good friends.

From left to right: Ernesto, Mike, a plate full of cracked conch, K, Melissa, Natalia (photo by the Guinnesses)

There's something primevally satisfying about using my own hands to gather food from the wild and feed my family. That's also pretty cool.

Of Friends and Towns Full of Hope

As we left Man-O-War in our wake, we couldn't help but feel that a bit of our hearts was staying behind. Everyone associated with the school was great, both kids and grown-ups. We felt welcome and are fortunate to have met all of them. The cruising and local communities have a gem of humanity there in Barb and Barry, as well as Nancy and Lawrie. With their smiles and warmth, they are the kind of people I wish to be when I grow up.

But cruisers cruise, and cruise away we did. All 5 miles of them! We needed to do some provisioning and other household chores like laundry. Marsh Harbour is the best place for that in Abaco. Last Monday we bounced around a few different stores and businesses, trying to get everything done as quick as possible. Our friends from Morning Star had a mooring lined up for us in Hope Town and we couldn't wait to reconnect with them. We met them in North Carolina and hadn't seen them since we were in Charleston, in early November of last year.

There's no challenge in getting from Marsh Harbour to Hope Town. The distance is around 7 or 8 nautical miles. But our charts indicated that the channel to get into the harbour in Hope Town is quite shallow, so we chose to spend a night anchored off Matt Lowe's Cay, half way between the two towns, and enter the harbour at high tide the next morning. It was a calm night, full of stars and beautiful in every aspect except for the slight swell that kept us rolling most of the night. We're all salty dogs aboard Taia, so the rolling didn't impede anybody's rest. Except for me. I guess I'm just a salty pup who doesn't sleep well on a rolly boat.

We motored into Hope Town and Melissa from Morning Star told us which mooring to pick up. With her kids in school and her husband, K., at work, Melissa was kind enough to show us around town and even took us snorkelling in Johnny's Cay. On the way to Johnny's Cay we saw a nurse shark about 6 feet in length. It's the first shark we've seen in the wild.

Atlantic side beaches in Hope Town

Hope Town is bigger than Man-O-War but smaller than Marsh Harbour. The whole town looks manicured and is as picturesque as they come. The beaches along the ocean side are breath-taking. The harbour is packed with boats, as the busy season is now getting started. We'll stay here for a few days.

Taia on her mooring in Hope Town

Homeschooling resumed today. The routine is already starting to feel familiar: while Natalia and the kids do school, I roam the boat looking for trouble and gear to break while pretending to fix it. There's also beach-going and snorkelling.

Invasion of the lifejacketed frogmen

Tonight we're going to see how the Hope Town lighthouse is lit. Flipping a switch may not sound like a very interesting event to witness, but that's not how it's done in this particular lighthouse. The process is more involved, as this is one of the last lighthouses in the world that still use kerosene as fuel. It should be an interesting lesson.

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"