With enough time in Davis Harbor, Eleuthera to make our knotmeter grow weeds and stop working, it was time for us to shove off and move on! We left the marina early in the morning on Sunday, May 27th to take advantage of the high tide. This little marina had been our ‘any port in a storm’ haven and although it didn’t have a lot of amenities, we were glad to make its acquaintance. We knew we had many more miles to go, but a refreshing break without worries of dragging anchor or wet dinghy rides ashore was a real treat.
The navigation out the supposedly 4.5′ deep channel that was actually closer to 8′ deep worked out fine and was pleasantly devoid of the normal raised anxiety level! With a fresh 20 knot breeze, gusting to 25, we set sail south along the coast of Eleuthera to round the extreme southern point of land. It felt a little strange sailing south when we knew we really needed to get up north. Along the way, we passed a spot called Miller Anchorage, currently the chosen spot for the cruise ship Queen Mary 2 to drop anchor. Karen was at the helm and was a bit irked that they chose to anchor right off the shore and in our direct path. How dare them! Reluctantly, she diverted just enough to clear their bow and in the process we watched while passengers were starting to board the tenders to go ashore. At the beach less than a 1/4 mile away was what looked like a very swank beach resort. Several of the cruise lines have bought coastal property, or in the case of nearby Little San Salvador, the whole island, and made them into comfortable landings for their passengers. These are shoreside resort facilities that are exclusive for the cruise line passengers and when there’s no ship in, the places shut down. At Miller Anchorage, we enviously eyed passengers that had probably just finished navigating the sumptuous breakfast buffet and where contemplating which water toys to play with on the beach – Hobie Cat, windsurfing, parasailing, or just splashing around in the surf. Ofcourse poolside bars and restaurants awaited the post-water sport crowd. Our imaginations turned these amenities into grand five star accommodations which we eyed with curiosity as we pounded to weather in a growing breeze. Did they look back at us with fictitious curiosity as well?
When we came around the southern point, we felt the full force of the wind and the waves rolling in from the Atlantic. Our dinghy, lashed down on the foredeck as usual, was taking the most beating as we heeled under a reefed mainsail and jib. We were close-hauled and in this position to the wind and waves, we frequently were taking water over the bow and across the foredeck. It would sweep under the dinghy and rush down the deck, and then off the side. Every few minutes, we’d get a spray of water in the cockpit, and, having not donned foul weather gear yet, everyone resigned to the fact that we’d be in wet shirts and shorts for the duration. When you are already soaked, what does it matter that more water is rushing down the deck and around the cockpit??!
Clearing the shallow waters of East End Point, we tacked and eagerly pointed the compass back north to regain our ground. With the wind out of the northeast, we were back close-hauled on the other tack, crawling our way up the eastern coast of Eleuthera.
About half way up the coast, we were able to alter course from close-hauled to more of a reach. With the sails eased, Thalia settled down in the seas, gained speed and made the prospects of going below to make lunch more plausible. Karen and I got prepared for our overnight watch schedule, which to my delight started off with a 2 hour nap in the afternoon. Not since kindergarten had the joys of an afternoon nap been so enticing. Thalia was moving along nicely, I could hear the water gurgling pass our berth and I had some time completely to myself – to read, daydream or sleep. How rare it is to have time alone when living aboard a boat!
After nightfall, the winds subsided further, but still enough for us to keep Thalia moving at 5+ knots. We had the help of a nearly full moon to illuminate the deck and the water around us and if you looked closely, you could see pinpoints of phosphoresce plankton glowing in the wake. Life was good.
By daybreak, we were just off of a spot called Man-of-War Cay. As this week’s chart shows, the Abacos consist of the Great Abaco Island fringed by a string of cays to the east. In between some of the cays, there are too many reefs to safely navigate, but here at the Man-of-War Cay, we could transit a designated channel into the Sea of Abaco, the body of water between the cays and Great Abaco Island. We learned later that these channels can become very treacherous when the seas from the Atlantic are rolling in strongly from the east, but today it was quite tame. Shortly thereafter, we entered the harbor of the main town in these parts, Marsh Harbor. Most of the inner harbor was 7-10 feet deep, with some 6 foot spots, but we didn’t get to test our anchoring skills in these shallows; we tried following an apparently 14 foot deep channel and when the depthsounder rapidly went from 5′ to 1′ under the keel, while we were smack-dab in the center of the channel, we backed up and chose an alternate anchorage in the outer harbor area. Annoyingly, right behind us was a coastal freighter with surely more then a 7′ draft, steaming along happy through the channel and to the commercial dock. There was certainly something we were missing in this puzzle, but in our sleep deprived minds, no answers were forthcoming. Regardless, we settled down at anchor, stowed our overnight gear and prepared to go ashore. Marsh Harbor would be our home for 5 days until friends joined us at the end of the week.
Marsh Harbor is one of a handful of destinations in the Bahamas that gets a lot of boaters arriving from the States – some for a quick reprovision, others for some area sightseeing, and many to camp out for the entire winter. With our arrival in late May, the ‘high-season’ boaters had disappeared, but still, we were enraptured with the presence of at least some sailboats, and the continual buzzing of motors – from offshore sport fishing craft to jet skis. There was indeed life in the Bahamas after all!
Our days in Marsh Harbor were taken up with school work in the morning and some play time in the afternoon. We traveled by ferry to nearby Hopetown, which seems to be very proud of their candy-striped lighthouse.
Someone out there, I’m not sure who, has claimed this lighthouse to be the most photographed in the world. I can’t imagine being employed as a lighthouse photography statistician, but the travel would be nice. Back home, our lighthouse, Portland Head light, was supposedly the most photographed, and at least made it on the Maine state commemorative quarter. Anyway, there are painfully few “aids to navigation” down here, so we welcomed the sight.
Hopetown is much like a sandy Cape Cod summer retreat, with colorful cottages and narrow streets traveled more by golf carts than cars.
On the Atlantic side of the island was an expansive beach; Zack and I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to bodysurf the waves. I’d find a way to teach this young fellow the lifestyle of a Southern Californian soon enough!
I may be getting myself into some hot water with this next comment, but the only oddity of Hopetown was it’s racial diversity – or rather, it’s lack of diversity. Here was a town where everyone you met on the street was white – some British but mostly American. There might be an occasional black person working at a restaurant, but that was it. On the ferry ride back, leaving at 5pm, we were suddenly and surprising surrounded by blacks and some hispanics, as they apparently commuted back from the many construction jobs on the island. We were only on the island for an afternoon, and my observations could be skewed because of that, but I left with an uncomfortable feeling. No one seems to talk about these things down here, but I’m betting they were thinking about it. Here was a white man’s retreat, built by blacks and likely serviced by blacks behind the scenes. I felt very ill at ease. Without a variety of black-run businesses and black vacationers, it felt very exclusive in a way that was inappropriate. I suppose I was uncomfortable being type-cast as a white wanting to go to a white retreat, commiserate with other whites and be served by blacks. We had spent the last 6 months in the eastern Caribbean visiting nearly all black towns, frequenting black run businesses and walking through marketplaces where we were the only whites. I liked that. I liked also seeing the pride they had in their island and their eagerness to show you it. Too, I wanted to show them my respect – respect for what they had overcome, respect for someone who could find a way to summon a living out of these wild and remote islands. Sadly, there was no way to show that on our visit to Hopetown.
With our planned offshore passage to Savannah coming up soon, we began watching the many different National Weather Service forecasts much more closely. It would only take us about 3 days to do the crossing, nothing like the distance we covered in the Carib1500, but it warranted a similar degree of preparation. And, we knew from the last several weeks in the Bahamas how the weather here is very transitional. We were coming up to June 1st, the ‘official’ opening of the hurricane season for weather forecasters. Was there a lineup of soon-to-be hurricane strength tropical storms waiting in the mid-Atlantic for the June 1 arrival? Let’s hope not! But, on cue with the arrival of our friends Martin and Nancy on June 1st, we did get drenched with heavy rain and gusty winds. They thankfully made it in the long dinghy ride out to the boat in Marsh Harbor without being rained on, but then it descended on us. My grand plan to walk them through the boat’s intricacies and allow them to settle in for a night before we took off were dashed. The wind was forecasted to turn to the southwest and increase to 25-30 knots, making our current anchorage spot untenable. We needed to seek better protection soon. On one of the nearby barrier islands, Great Guana Cay, was a snug marina, Orchid Bay Marina, with a breakwater facing west, providing an unusually well protected spot for the wind direction. The prevailing wind here is from the east or southeast, and therefore most of the anchorages are situated in the prevailing lee of the islands, on the western shore, but here was a place that was perfect for the weather. We were tied up alongside just before dinner. We certainly hoped to be able to show them a more attractive side of the Bahamas before we made our crossing to Savannah. We’ll keep our fingers crossed!
