Its morning in the marina

Its morning in the marina.  The sun has already warmed the pilothouse. We open the doors and windows.

The sounds of the marina are clear through the quiet wet air. Water is gurgling from the shower sump on a boat next to us. The cruisers in a boat on the other side are congenially sharing pieces of news to each other from the local paper over coffee. He burnt his lip on the edge of a ceramic cup, she giggles the admonishment of caring. The dragging scrape of filp-flops along the dock announces Hojo, in her flannel jama's with shower kit in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, reluctantly easing her way to the shower room for morning ablutions. Sometimes she stays in the little room longer than others would like. Ray, the owner, brings out the leaf-blower and lays it down, probably realizing it is too early for the noise. He walks the docks instead checking lines and angle of boats in the water looking for hints of danger or a bilge pump not working properly. The burgler alarm at the tiki bar next to the boat next to us goes off suggesting the first employee has arrived to set up for a busy day of serving beer and food to those sitting out on the deck in the warm sun cooled just right by a zephyr of a breeze that the air pressure overhead will not allow to build today. Small fish break water next to the boat, a comorant greedilly ducks beneath the water seeking what comorants seek, while a lone Brown Pelican glides on a pressure wave created by pinching air between him and the water only inches below him, his wing tips dimple the water on the down stroke. Unseen runners on the road behind us hidden by the stand of mangroves talk in passing with little bumps in their voice when a heel hits the pavement. A scratchy throated dove coos in response to the vulgar grind of a garbage truck mashing its load with its compactor. The man on the back whistles to the driver and the intermittent backup warning tone attempts to imitate the dove. Lynn tells me it is time for me to help color her hair.

Nothing is happening this morning, but morning.

Bones

Home is where the heart is...

Home is where the heart is....or maybe it is just where there is a cold beer, a greasy burger and a beach.  We are the second boat in from the bar, but thats ok, we need the excercise.  The beach is across the street, (we have a private section of the beach), and surf fishing there or walk down to the pass for other fishing or if too lazy we just fish off the dock.  Manatee was next to our slip when we got up yesterday.  We hear the music from the bar on weekends, usually island, Florida theme with some old time soft rock in the weekend evenings.  Haven't gotten my grouper sandwich yet, but it will come.  Plan to spend a few evenings watching for the ever elusive green flash, which I have seen twice at this beach.

Here is a picture to prove I am not telling tall tales.

Bones

Content in Paradise

MV Skinwalker is safe!

The boat, our boat, our home is off the sand bar and safe with no apparent damage.  We have tested the running gear, trannies & props no problems.  No new vibrations or overheating.

In this type of grounding according to TowBoatUS there was a 50/50 chance of loosing the boat.  It was technically a salvage operation, but this boat us owner did not treat it as salvage but as a challenge.  It took two two boats with great effort to save our home.  These guys were terrific, sympathic, friendly and so very, very professional.  TowBoat US insurance took care of the hours and effort of the first boat and two men and we paid for the second boat and driver.  I am so proud of Lynn so handled everything with her normal aplomb--until we finished and reached the dock.

We have spent the last few hours cleaning up what fell to the other side of the boat and several gallons of water intrusion through a leaking porthole, as we laid on our side, we think.  The bilges are dry again and the pumps not coming on and off.  We believe all is well.

When we finish cleaning up we are going to find a burger, several beers and a very long nap.

Thank you all for caring.  We have not read your emails yet, but will after we put our shatter egos and nerves back together.  

We are both still shaken, but now relieved.

We will be leaving in the morning back to our northbound efforts and anticipate no significant loss of time.

Bones & Capt'n Lynnie

 

MV Skinwalker in peril

Skinwalker Log, Monday, April 05, 2010, 0700 hrs

Calabash Creek Anchorage Near Little River Inlet on the AICW

My whole body is quivering with tension.  Lynn is in shock.  I am in shock.  I did something stupid and dangerous.  Our vessel is in some peril.  But, now, we are not, only the boat remains in jeopardy. Jeopardy, we have learned is not just a game show.  We sit safely in a marina.  Brian of BoatUS brought us here to his marina in Little River.  Skinwalker is lying on her side hard aground.  Six years, 25,000 miles and it has come to this, taking our chances on a rising tide.

Yesterday afternoon we anchored close to shore giving two sailboats who were already anchored there plenty of room.  It is always shallow here, but we were in closer to shore then usual at low tide. Occasionally the boat would bump into the mud bank then back off by itself.  The tide started coming in and I felt more comfortable as Skinwalker floated out in the current a little way from shore.  I monitored the tide closely aware of our proximity to the shore for a while then went to bed marking in my head that high tide would be at 0130 hours and that I should check our swing at the turn of tide to make sure we swung away from shore not into shore.  I awoke at 0330 to find the boat listing to port.  During the rising tide it had turned and stretched out its anchor chain to the flow, but it had not swung out and around on the change to an outgoing tide.  Skinwalker instead had caught and settled onto a sand bar near high tide. 

I started the engines an attempted to wiggle off with no success as the boat continued to list.  I called Sea Tow and during the course of them launching a captain and boat we all discovered our coverage had lapsed in January and Lynn had only renewed with a check by mail less then a week ago. 

Lynn called the national number for BoatUS our other towing service and we got the runaround very much like people feel when they call the coast guard with the subsequence asking of many questions, while germane, are not reassuring that anything is being done expediously.  The boat heeled more.  In frustration I called out on the VHF radio for BoatUS who answered promptly in a calm reassuring voice. They dispatched a boat immediately—the boat listed further.  It was 20 minutes the beautiful red boatUS vessel showed up and calmed us with a soothing voice on the radio even as the boat heeled more onto its beam.  Then the captained probed here and there with bright flood lights, examining looking for damage and generally evaluating the situation. 

We could walk a few feet to shore if we needed to, but we were not positive the boat would survive sitting on its side as it now was.  Adrenaline kicked our minds into warp drive and that brought fear that we contained to nervousness as we struggled to master that fear with a veneer of calm.  We couldn’t walk around the boat.  A bench was now lying on the recliners, the refrigerator was straining, bulging out of its cabinet trying to wrest free of its restraints.  Everything took five times longer to do because we were walking on the corner of the rooms where the floor meets the walls, the floors not allowing us purchase and the walls a little to steep to walk on.  Our home had turned into the a scary fun house where up seem sideways and down the other sideways.  It was disorienting.  Finally Skinwalker stopped its sideways fall at 45 degrees. 

However, water was seeping in a seal porthole and the master was taking on water so Lynn tightened the hatches further still.  Lynn & I were both disoriented.  We closed seacocks, hatches, loaded up clothes, money and one computer.  We made a rope fast to horns on the aft cleat and used that to pull or lower us up and down the back deck then used it to climb over the starboard rail and with great effort lower us down past the end of the swim platform and down further into the towboat.  One at a time we both made our way down into the towboat.  I turned around and there in front of me was Skinwalkers starboard rudder and prop high in the air.  The keel reflected light off its bright green bottom paint.  “Look how clean the bottom is” was my first thought, while my second thought marveled in disgust at the innocence of the first.  The boat was mammoth tipped on its side.  The severity of the situation soon became clear.  Stupid, stupid, stupid, how incredible stupid can I be for allowing this situation to occur.

The towboat captain has brought us to his marina as I have said.  We sit here now waiting for the tide to float the boat, perhaps, later today.  High tide is going to be lower then it was night.  Chances are we will get off, but that is uncertain at this time and in the darkness of my mind strange and horrible things are happening just now.  I am still shockly.  Who would think such a small thing would have such a great effect both physically and mentally.  Our home is not our home at least for a few hours,  Then, ever hopefully, it will be again.

I can’t throw up again.  I can’t go to the bathroom one more time.  Now it is sit, worry, wait worry and worry hope two towboats can get us off a few hours from now.  I am frightened, yet strong, yet not as strong as I should be.  Lynn is holding it together.

There wasn’t much chance of dying, unless dying of fright is really possible.  We will return at high tide and see if our home, our precious home is still there and able to re-float.  It is likely all will be well, but even the small thought of it not being well is more chilling then I would have ever thought.  We are helpless, but alive.

More to come this afternoon after we workout what needs and can be done to save our home.  Bones & Capt’n Lynnie

Lumbering around the Whale with 2-3 foot swells

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 1^st 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