Skinwalker Log, March 11, 2010, Thursday, 0758
Black Sound, Green Turtle Cay, Abacos, Bahamas
26.45 N
76.19 W
It was a lovely day yesterday and the day before. After waiting for almost two weeks we lumbered around the Whale on Tuesday with 2-3 foot swells out of the NE and 4-5 foot swells out of the SE, a full ten seconds apart. As we made the turn past the Whale into the pass we surged, surfing into Whale Passage on the relatively robust, yet gentle swells.
Our intentions were to leave Marsh Harbour on or before March 1st and tour the Northern Abacos for the month. That is not to be. The spring winds have been annoying, brisk and cold, as it has been all winter. The water has been too cold even for Canadians to swim in. That left the social life of Boat Habour for us to endure with an extended variety of activities with the same people every day. That, and old demon rum, a very old friend of mine, provided ample afternoon and evening entertainment most days, by way of engaging others who often became touched in the head during a few hours of excess. For those who don’t quite get the picture there was always someone drunk on their ass to laugh at or ridicule, depending on the nature of the observer and his memory of the last time he was in the bottle. Occasionally someone put together a pool betting on how much the rummy of the day would remember the next morning. I never won.
Since arriving at Marsh Harbour we were viewed as newbies, which we were to the Bahamas. It is odd that being new to the Abacos meant to others we are inexperienced cruisers.
This newbie concept led many others to share their experience regarding rounding the Whale assuring us that with their experience we could safely follow their lead. I almost believed them for a bit.
We finally recognize a potential window to pass the Whale and we follow two boats to Guana Cay to stage for the passage and leave the next day, It was a suspicious day by all accounts for making an open ocean passage, yet my colleagues assured me all would be well despite the small craft warnings issued by the Bahamians. I was frank with the two captains suggesting they could be the sacrificial lambs and I would hang back in third position to see how they did.
As they bound enthusiastically into the main of the incoming seas we were a distance back at the edge of the crossing entry behind coral reefs. We started rocking and rolling in 3’ to 5’ footers of a tight period of 4 seconds. There is no word from them. I like comfort. This is not comfortable so we turned around wondering what mistake we had made and how they can do it and we cannot. Soon we hear terse tones from the two boats attempting to convince each other it is not too bad out there. Soon, nothing is heard. I could sense they were too busy to talk.
We chugged back toward the marina confused, hearing yet others state the Whale is doable and wonder what we have missed and how--trying to reconcile what we had just experienced and what we were hearing.
A short while later the other two boats conversed. The captain of the lead boat in a tone of tense relief mixed with residual concern and the other captain bordering on barely suppressed fear are surviving 6’ to 8’ swells not far apart. The captains are not happy—they sound fearful, but would deny it if confronted. Their crew by admission are very unhappy, likely fearful and downright mutinous. I have witnessed it all before first hand.
It is hard to fault another’s decision, we all must make our own. This day mine was right for us. The other two boats will be back in the states a week or more before Skinwalker. But at what cost? Lynn & I will still be speaking to each other with grace and perhaps engaging comfortably in sex this week. I don’t think those captains will be getting any for a while. I think their crews are really angry.
The desire to get somewhere is overwhelming and contorts reason. Egos and macho displays of manhood can drive decisions further off the correct course. I almost got caught up in the adrenaline of desire and the testosterone of manhood, yet experience grabbed me by the shirttail as I was about to step off the contrived cliff of desire and jerked me back to the reality of reason. I want to be angry. I have tried to be angry at those captains for luring me into complacency. It is not their fault. It is my problem. If anything, I should have warned them from the beginning. I knew the forecast and that it bode bad for a crossing. When I arose that morning the water was trembling in the harbor and I told Lynn it was not a good portent for a safe passage, yet I was driven.
No harm no foul? If accepted that platitude will allow me to attempt a similar error in the future. I almost made two classic mistakes. Perhaps flogging myself will beat enough sense into me to cement the need for clear thinking underway at all times, for unemotional decision making, for using the right head and not following my manhood around like I had a leash being held by my ego. One of these days I am going to get it right without the preamble of stupidity slowing me down.
We are currently holding in Green Turtle with no current prospect for a weather window for the Gulf Stream. Heck we may be here forever if the weather doesn’t break in our favor. But, not to worry.
We will share our time with locals at Sundowners, Pineapples and McIntosh liquor store that also doubles as a restaurant, bar and local gathering spot across the street from the small wharf where the supply ship comes in twice a week. Might even take in Bee’s for the original Goombay Smash. Currently docked at Black Sound Marina. While not the only boat, we are the only ones on a boat here and it is quiet, peaceful and almost lonely. The manager, Mr. Carroll Sawyer, stops by once a day and finally, finally I say, has provided us with the wifi password that he had to get from the owner in the states. We have been here three days with no method of comm’s except our boat radios and we have felt utterly isolated except when we go to Pineapples and visit with the pretty young owner or one of the other small bars that we have come to know intimately.
For those who have not been here, the streets in town are golf cart narrow like on Tangiers in the Chesapeake and the local anglos have a very similar dialect as the fishermen of Tangiers. It is a charming place with great vistas and a wonderful laid back attitude complimented by the gracious people. We don’t care how long we have to wait.
The day we left Florida our navigation computer took a coffee bath and I sent it to Father Phil to bless it. He did and got it back to us in the Bahamas. The day we left Marsh Harbor the same computer went TU due to a dead battery. Phil saved us once again by emailing a patch so I could get the nav system working on the other computer. I hate confusers. I cannot tell you how many times Phil has save our butts with computer fixes. Phil, thank you ever so much. We owe you dinner when we get there.
I am proud to announce, as a minor self proclaimed partner of the Silver Foxes Vegetable Car Racing team, that our vehicle won. Well, really it is Jims team and car. But never-the-less, I will be attempting to collect prize money for my verbal contributions given to Jim one rummy evening.
Lynn & I look forward to returning to the states when it is safe and comfortable to do so. When ever that might be.
Bones & Lynn
