Bang, Thump, and Thwack: Sailing Theory

Just a head's up: this is going to get pretty technical.

WW figures he has sussed out the problem Django has been having. At first we thought it was the ka-bangs and the ka-thumps that were the problem. To refresh your memory:

• Your ka-bang occurs when a wave hits Django's belly (between the two hulls), which also happens to be the salon floor. It produces a sound like a small detonation and has the effect of pitching you an inch off the floor, should you be standing on it.
• Your ka-thump occurs when your bow is heading into the seas and meets a cresting wave head on. Water is hard when you meet it at speed. The interesting thing in a cat is that you can have sequential ka-thumps separated by very little time. That's because each hull can produce it's own personal ka-thumps.

Well, WW believes the ka-bangs, apart from being annoying, are reasonably innocuous. The ka-thump is also not a terrible thing, unless it contributes to your ka-thwack.

• Your ka-thwack happens when the sails back and then snap into place (I told you this would be technical). If you are sailing close to the wind (pointing as close as possible to straight into it and still able to sail), from time to time, the boat will head into the wind, the sails will go aback (oh nevermind...they flutter) and then, because you have an autopilot forcing the boat back on course, the sail will snap back into action with considerable force. A wind shift or your ka-thump can contribute to the start of a ka-thwack, whereas your ka-bang doesn't. Both your mainsail and your genoa can ka-thwack and affect their supports (mast and forestay) as they do so.

WW thinks our problem has been ka-thwacks of which there have been many as we've beein sailing almost constantly into the wind. Each of them results in a cracking fexion of the mast. Carrying on in this fashion for three days at a run will ensure you fulfill the maxim: While you're sleeping, your boat is breaking.

Here endeth the lesson.

Repairs Ongoing

WW had threatened to start bright and early. He generally keeps his threats. In fairness, though, he doesn't seem to expect me to follow suit.

By shortly after 9, having breakfasted and abluted, he was sewing up the mainsail. My mission, should I choose to accept it (I did), was to tighten the trampoline lines which had been loosened to reset the bars. It was very hot. We both grunted a bit. We got the jobs done.

After lunch, we were taken in to Puerto Plata, about 5 km from Ocean World, were we stopped on a narrow street full of people selling, making and buying automotive bits and pieces. We needed to have the mainsail car from the boom repaired. Much muttering and discussion was followed, within about 10 minutes, by the repaired car being returned to us. The cost was a princely 100 RD (32 RD = 1 dollar). We then visited a bookstore, where we bought several children's books in Spanish, and a grocery store for the essential ron punche limes.

Back at Django, it was a balmy 38C under the bimini, 30C inside. In the cool of the evening, we headed back to Almost Open, the grouper sandwich's siren call being irresistible to William.

Saturday morning, he was at it again. The car was installed, the patched mainsail was furled. Then it was time for aerial work.

The bos'un's chair is a structure which can be attached to a halyard such that a person sitting in it can be hauled up to the masthead. WW needed to fix the forestay. He had realized that it was not, in fact, falling apart, but that it has a good solid steel cable at its core. However, it is sheathed in sections of aluminum tubing. Two of those sections, about two thirds of the way up, had separated.

The first attempt had him shinnying up the forestay while I used a winch and the windlass to support him. He found the problem and descended, but decided it was too hard on the windlass to go up that way. We really don't want to burn out its motor. Next time, he climbed the mast, swung over Tarzan-style to the forestay. It was all very dramatic and exciting and so forth. Especially the parts when he squealed a lot. He didn't entirely trust me to lower him slowly enough and was understandably nervous. I did a brilliant, not to say perfect, job.

We refurled the genny, then WW replaced various lines (including our topping lift) and I swabbed the decks. Within a couple of hours we had a gleaming boat with an entirely new set of lines, repairs all done, ready for a sea trial.

The Mainsail

Our first exotic repair was to be the mainsail furler. I say "our", but I lie. WW's first exotic repair. I am an exuberant bystander, most adept at being in the way. Occasionally, I will be asked to hold a line or cheer. For the most part, I am excess to requirements.

WW scratched his head, pondered, and finally used a plastic lid we had saved since Fort Lauderdale to build a new piece for the furler. He also removed and replaced the furler line and moved the supporting struts for the trampoline. All this was hot work, so he was sent off for a shower.

I had told him about the Adventure Park and we went to explore it. That's when we discovered I had been an illegal entrant. As we were turning away, a man accosted WW and offered him "the tour". This turned out to be a drive to the offices of Lifestyle Vacation Holidays, where we were handed over to the extremely pleasant James Almazor (Haitian, his grandfather had come from Quebec), who tried to sell us one of a variety of vacation plans. It is actually quite an interesting concept, but probably not our style.

When we returned to the boat, it was about rum punch o'clock. The temperature under the bimini was 41C. We turned on both fans and lolled in the salon at a comfortable 28C. Then we walked into the village and ate at the Almost Open restaurant. WW won. He had the grouper sandwich. It was magnificent.

****

It is Sunday morning and we are being taken to Santiago in about 10 minutes. Tomorrow we will head to Santo Domingo and on Tuesday, we are flying back to Canada. That means I will have to catch up when I'm back there.

Ocean World...and All That That Entails

Imagine a lovely oceanfront cottage, swallows and kingbirds swooping overhead, and "Who Let the Dogs Out?" playing very very loudly about 100 metres away. That's for the sealions. For the porpoises it's "Surfin' USA". The macaws get "March of the Toreadors". All very loud and clear for the occupants of Django. The lights of the huge sign atop the casino replace those myriad stars we had to put up with in mid-ocean. Really, who could ask for more?

As a marina, it's very nice. Mind you, any place with a functional hot shower and a toilet that flushes is very nice to my tiny mind. On our first day, we were docked as far away as humanly possible from all the amenities...about a five minute walk in the 35C+ heat. However, the Ocean World Marina personnel are more than happy to leap into a golf cart and take you to and from laundry, showers, Internet, etc.

Django at Ocean World, DR

I had a load of laundry to do but the machines wouldn't be free for half an hour, so I decided to explore. I climbed some stairs, turned left, and found a little gateway into a cafeteria. I wandered through that and into the shopping area, thence to the snorkelling reef. Which is pretty cool for kids. It's a huge aquarium about 10 feet deep at it's deepest, with coral and reef fish swimming about...and kids. Next to that is the aviary where you go through two sets of doors and can have a toucan walk up and down your arm. There are tigers which I didn't see. The dolphins were doing laps in a large enclosure. The sealions were in a pool about three times their body length long, but quite deep. They were noodling around in the most spectacularly sinuous fashion. By the time I'd pottered about the place, the washers were free. It was only the next day that I learned entrance to the Adventure Park is $35 per person. I'd innocently found a back door.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

After we docked, we arranged for a mechanic to visit and WW went off to arrange our stay. I started cleaning. I was reasonably sure that our boat had developed an aromatic richness during our crossing. I washed all the floors and walls inside, and two of the galley cupboards. Outside, I started to scrub the decks. After Django was something approaching clean, I headed off with the laundry and WW continued clean up operations. By the time I returned, it was well past both beer and lunch o'clocks. We headed in to the outdoor restaurant, at which time I posted that first "Yo tieno hamber" (I am hungry) post. (Yes, we are trying to learn espagnol, which is hard because all the Dominicans want to practise their English.)

After a delicious lunch (I had a crillo frito -- fried red snapper -- that was absolutely fantastico) at the Octopus Bar and Grill, we gathered our laundry and met the mechanic who came out to the boat with us. He hung head down in the starboard engine compartment where he repaired an oil leak but was unable to solve the transmission problem. This consists mainly of the engine refusing to go into gear from time to unpredictable time. WW thinks it may be a warranty issue. Pedro the mechanic also changed the oil, oil filtres, and fuel filtres in both engines.

That evening, we ate in Poseidon, the fancier restaurant, which offered very well-endowed salad and dessert bars to go with a choice of main course. We both chose the lobster, and were rewarded with three enormous half tails. And very delicious, too.

We retired early since the morrow would see us starting early to avoid the heat. We would, of course, be repairing our boat in an exotic location.

Rum Cay to Dominican Republic, Day 3

I had the dawn watch. It was amazing to sit on this little blob in the tractless seas, no land in sight, and realize the same sun that had gone plop over there last night, was brightening the sky way over in this other place this morning.

Our day was almost completely lazy. We lolled about, reading the thrillers the previous owner had left on board. These books are the kind you probably would never buy ordinarily, but they are ideal for cruises. Fortunately, there are book exchanges at various cruising stops, so you can turn in the ones you've finished for new ones. They are all pretty much identical. In fact, WW and I wondered whether, with aging memories such as ours, we could perhaps keep just two books on board. Unfortunately, that won't work. I read faster than he. That's because he spends all that potential reading time worrying.

It was very warm during the afternoon, and I'd gone below to get out of the sun when WW shouted, "Porpoises!"

A dozen or more came to check us out and six of them stayed with us for a mile or two. They seemed to enjoy swimming between our bows and keeping just ahead of us, and just below the bows when they'd crash down after a swell. I crawled forward and sat on the starboard bow, porpoises leaping and blowing beneath my feet. Crashing swells drenched me, but I was grinning from ear to ear. It was amazing, a dream, to be just above them as they paced us, moving effortlessly through the fabulously clear water. Then, suddenly, it was time to go. They curved gracefully ahead and away from us, then dropped behind. I looked back and one came from astern of us and a bit to starboard, then leapt a good five feet clear of the water and covered at least 10 feet in a spectacular farewell.

I crawled back to the cockpit where WW was standing with the shower. I was hosed down and not allowed into the cockpit until I'd rinsed myself and my clothes completely. Good ol' salt water.

Immediately after, WW spotted a small whale puffing away to starboard, and speculated that it was either a baby or a pilot whale. Then he saw a larger whale behind and beneath it, so our bet is a mom and tot team of the humpback variety.

At 16:30 EST, we were 5o nautical miles from Ocean World Marina, outside Puerto Plata, DR. I decided we should celebrate with our first RP (with real ice, husbanded against this moment) since Rum Cay. I proudly produced them in the cockpit, where WW wasn't.

He was on the foredeck. He was busy with something. He was worrying for a change. As the ice in the RPs softly and silently vanished away, he told me the forestay was coming apart. For those who don't know, that's a Very Important Piece of Boat. It holds the mast up. We furled the genny till only a small triangle was still pulling us. We reduced speed on our only remaining engine, so as to move at no more than about 4 knots. Apparently, Django hadn't enjoyed the banging she'd been getting any more than we had.

Our third night was very very long. It was the first time I too had been really worried. When WW would go below to sleep, I'd look up at the mast and wonder fearfully when exactly it was going to come crashing down. Every bump and thump had me twitching. I had no trouble at all staying awake.

We saw small craft heading into Haiti or the DR, but they were few and far between. WW had the dawn watch. He woke me soon after. The coast of the DR was a few miles to starboard and a more beautiful sight I have rarely seen. We were moving along the coast to our marina, about 20 miles further east.

WW wanted to lower the mainsail. The furler remained resolutely jammed, so we ended up hauling it down off the mast and bundling it up on the boom. My job was interim bungee cord, wrapped desperately around sail and boom while WW lashed it down. It's nice to feel useful.

We entered Ocean World Marina at about 9 a.m. and learned that the time was 8 a.m. From here on in, ship's time is EDT.

Rum Cay to Dominican Republic, Day 2

When we were waiting for our lunch at Kaye's on Rum Cay, we'd been talking to another cruiser. He told us a new adage to live by. It is a perfect mate for "Cruising is repairing your boat in exotic locations."

The new one is: "While you're sleeping...your boat is breaking."

WW had had the dawn watch. The sun had risen on a broken mainsail shackle on the boom and the complete failure of our starboard transmission. In addition, when we tried to lower the mainsail, we discovered the furler was jammed beyond redemption. With my help (I held onto him and braced him while he worked), WW lashed the end of the mainsail in place. He observed that we had plenty of gas, provided we could figure out how to get it from the starboard engine's tank to the port engine's tank. Even for that, he had a plan. Perforce, the mainsail stayed up.

We continued with a nice wind from the north and, at Mayaguana, we moved to a more southerly course which suited the wind and seas much better.

Mayaguana is the last Bahama island we would pass before the Turks and Caicos. It is surrounded by formidable reefs and a large wreck on the tip of the southern reef -- about three miles offshore -- was as sober reminder to take care and believe the charts. So many marine dangers are not visible until it's way too late.

We discussed heading into Provo (Providenciales, the prinicpal island of the Caicos), but decided to press on to the Dominican Republic (DR) where, we thought, we had a better chance of getting a mechanic and of being pulled out if need be.

Just after Mayaguana, WW pointed to the horizon. A huge whale breached. A short time later, she or he did it again. Samana Bay in the DR is where the humpback whales go each year, from about December to February, to calve and breed. Several thousand congregate both in the bay and in a marine reserve just offshore. The males posture and display, like males everywhere. They also sing. The females give birth and start teaching their thousand-pound wee 'uns basic survival. After calving comes breeding and the year-long pregnancy begins. It's likely, then, that our breaching friend was a humpback heading to the cooler waters of the north for the summer.

We passed the Turks and Caicos after dark, WW worrying and me playing games. We were well south along the Caicos Bank when the sun rose on Day 3.

Rum Cay to Dominican Republic, Day 1

We cast off, with some much appreciated help from Peggy (and valiant attempts by the Rum Cay kitty to stow away), at about 8 a.m. ship's time on Sunday, March 9. I say ship's time, because we decided to ignore daylight saving until we found out what the Dominican Republic is using. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the wind was not too bad and in a reasonable, if not great, quarter.

We are circumspect in our alcohol consumption during crossings and cruises. A majority of boating accidents and drownings are associated with liquor + boat. WW also confidently informs me that men peeing over the side is a bad thing...a very good way to produce a man overboard (MOB) situation. That said, we marked our entry into the tropics at about 1 p.m. EST by a small glass of wine. Then we settled into occupying our little home for the next three days. A lot of reading is done.

The wind, instead of slacking as it was supposed to, picked up. We were bucketing along between 6 and 7 knots for much of the time. Django didn't like it much, since she was pointing almost directly into the wind and waves. The wind finally moved to a more advantageous bit of the compass and we were able to raise genny and mainsail. We watched Rum Cay vanish into the distance; the next bit of land to the south would be Samana Cay.

When the sun plonked itself into the ocean, we dined and began our two-hour watch rotation. It was much easier than I had thought it would be, although catamarans go bang alot as the centre connecty bit (I believe that's the technical term) is slapped by the seas. They also go thump when one or other of the bows buries itself in a solid wall of wave. Below can be rather noisy. And bumpy. Our berth is forward and one of the not good places to be during a cruise, so we took turns on the salon bench. It was actually very comfy. In future, we will use the stern berth on which I store cabbages, eggs, bottles of wine, and such. We think it will be much quieter and the sleeper will not be bothered by the watchkeeper making tea or checking the plotter or shining a Ginny-provided headlamp on the charts.

That night was my first experience of the fabled phosphorescence of the sea. WW tells me it is created by little shrimp-like creatures--the fireflies of the sea. They were just sporadic sparkles here and there in our wake, but lovely withal. WW says you can hit great congregations of the critters and your entire wake becomes awash with light.

The main trick with keeping night watch is, of course, staying awake. You can't read because the light would mess up your night vision and you REALLY want to know if a cruise or cargo ship is anywhere nearby. There is even a setting on the chart plotter for night which is far dimmer than the day setting. WW achieves wakefulness by worrying. I achieve it with my Nintendo DS, a Christmas present from the boys and GG (and for which, many thanks). It is a little pocket video game player on which I can do sudoku and puzzles and other drivel. It can be closed and reopened later to pick up where you left off. That means I could start something, shut it, check all the dials and course and wind and speed over ground, and restart it just by opening it again.

With WW worrying and me solving mindless puzzles, we did very well.

We passed Samana Cay just before dawn and WW had news for me.

Tropical Heaven

We crossed the Tropic of Cancer four hours out from Rum Cay.

We arrived here in the Dominican Republic this morning, bright and early, and have been cleaning pretty much continuously (barring the inevitable break to welcome aboard and pay and endless stream of officialdom) ever since.

The cruise from Rum Cay, The Bahamas, to Ocean World, Dominican Republic, was eventful. However, I am seated at an Ocean World computer because the wifi here is out of commission while it is being upgraded. And I haven't had lunch.

We're here, we're OK, it's hot. More later. Off to eat!

The Sand Bar

Django at Sumner Point Marina, Rum Cay
(she's the catamaran, duh; to the left as you look at her is
Taurus II, Jeff and Peggy's motor cruiser)

We headed back from the amazing two-storey beach at about noon. We all agreed it was beer o’clock, so our driver (Jeff at that point) headed back to Port Nelson and Kaye’s Bar and Restaurant, about five miles away.

We arrived and went into Kaye’s. The Sand Bar is well named…the floor is sand. We ordered beer and lunches. The charming woman who served us said her daughter could make us hamburgers. Later, as WW and I were sitting outside chatting with some other people, Peggy called out to say the daughter was too busy to cook but the nice woman would make us something.

Jeff at the Sand Bar

About half an hour later, we were called in. What a spread! There were two fish dishes, one baked, one fried. There was fried plantain, peas and rice, roast potatoes, and a mixed salad. We loaded our platters and ate one super good lunch. I went to the kitchen door and asked Delores (as I learned her name to be) how she made the fish and what kind it was. She laughed and said, “That was wahoo.” I’ve heard about the joys of wahoo but this exceeded my wildest dreams. I pointed at the fried fish, the deliciousness of which is beyond my powers to describe. She said, “I just fried it.” I admonished her. I said, “You put something on it first.” At that, I was taken into the kitchen and shown a huge jar with a bit of residue at the bottom. “It’s just my spice mix,” she said. I had to know how she made it. She told me, but I have found that the telling and the doing are often quite different, so I was delighted when she called me back to the kitchen to see her make a new batch. Eight dried hot red peppers, five habanero peppers, a tumbler of coarse salt, dried parsley, paprika and thyme all went into the blender jar. For the baked fish, she used the same stuff, threw on some sliced onions and green peppers, then covered it all with tomatoes she had blended. She gave me a bottle of her tomatoes and then said, “And you have to have some salt. It’s special salt.”

Indeed it is. In the summers she and, presumably, other islanders go to the salt pans and rake it up. “By the bushel,” she said. I was given about a cup of this amazing salt, wrapped in twisted paper. Then she mentioned in passing that she had written a book. Well, of course, we bought one and I had her autograph it right by the peas and rice recipe.

Delightful Delores Wilson signing
a copy of her book Rum Cay, My Home

We are expecting to leave here some time tomorrow, as of the last weather forecast it looked like during the afternoon would be good. We will be out of contact for about three days but will be back in touch as soon as we can.

The photos in this post are kindness of Peggy. Our camera is capable of small groans, but shows few other signs of life, alas.

The Rum Cay kitty prowls the marina dock
in search of love or milk

Explorations and Discoveries

The marina was advertised as having laundry. It turns out that the machines are the ones in the room behind the kitchen of the house here. The charge? $30.

Thursday morning I spent handwashing all our clothes and bedding. It involved quite a lot of water, so wasn’t a huge savings, but it was good for my soul. With Django decked out in miles of line and flapping laundry, looking very much like a floating member of a trailer park, we set of to walk to Port Nelson and search for WW’s glasses.

It was a lovely walk and we saw interesting plants, butterflies, and fish (these were in brackish streams running from salt pans to the sea). We found the Last Chance Market. It was closed, so we wandered on for a bit, past the pretty little church.

The lovely Anglican church in Port Nelson

A fellow we’d asked about the glasses was coming our way and told us the store was open, so we popped in and had a lovely shop. Supplies are limited, but we managed to get some chicken, “breakfast links”, more limes, and an assortment of odds and ends we needed. WW carried the bags back and I walked along the beach, watching for wandering glasses. No luck. WW tried again after lunch. They are most thoroughly gone.

The next day, WW schlepped 5-gallon jerry cans of diesel fuel to Django. No pump here. He filled her tanks and then refilled the cans. We are hoping to leave for the Dominican Republic in the next couple of days. That’s a three-day run and we’ll need the fuel as it will, again, be into the wind. However, the wind is supposed to be quite gentle. After lunch we took a nice long walk along a dirt road that went nowhere. Saw lots of big locusts and a huge spider. On the way back, we spotted an American kestrel. A very pretty bird. For dinner I tried something adventurous: papaya and garlic soup. It was actually very good.

Today, I cleaned the galley cupboards, the entire head, and all Django’s floors. Then we and Peggy and Jeff rented a golf cart for half the day ($30) and went exploring. The most amazing find was a beach, clear over on the other side of the cay, about a mile long of pristine white sand, with wild Atlantic breakers pounding on the reefs about a half mile out that protect it.

Jeff, WW and I on the amazing Atlantic beach

There was a rocky spur near where we parked and I wanted to climb it. I wandered over and realized it was coral and I didn’t have my shoes. Rather than get them, I climbed very very carefully. I discovered the second floor. Literally. There was another beach above the first, with stone accreted from the seawater. It was an extraordinary place. The others made let’s go signals, but I ducked out of sight so they followed and were pleased they had.

The second storey beach

Oh, saw lots of birds. A number of great egrets, an osprey with a kill, more kestrels, a couple of flocks of smooth-billed anis (a wild parrot), and lots of ground doves and collared doves. WW and Peggy spotted something they described, I hunted for a look-alike, and they agreed was a pearly-eyed thrasher (I only allowed them that one because it is common in the south Bahamas).

(Not Jimmy) Buffet

After docking at Rum Cay Marina, we met our neighbours Jeff and Peggy, who joined us for SRPs at RP o’clock. They told us about the buffet down in Port Nelson. After downing our SRPs, we joined them in the walk to the Ocean View Restaurant. Jeff recommended going by the beach as the shorter, faster route. Unfortunately, he had gone at low tide and the tide was now rather high. We had to cross a great many unpleasant rocks while ducking around overhanging growing stuff and surrounded by clouds of voracious mosquitoes. This also involved taking off and putting on again of sandals: barefoot for sand, sandals for rock. Each time WW bent over, his reading glasses slide from his breast pocket onto the ground. At last, they made a complete getaway, which he discovered only on arrival at our destination. Two down, one to go. He was determined to go beachcombing in daylight.

Jeff had offered to buy us a drink, but he did caution us that, on his only other visit, he’d asked what was available. “Anything you want,” said the barman. “Rum,” said Jeff. “Don’t have any rum,” said the barman. “How about vodka?” said Jeff. “Nope. No vodka,” said the barman. “Well, what do you have?” asked Jeff. “Anything you want,” said the barman, “so long as it’s gin.”

WW and I tried sky juice which is green coconut water and gin. It’s quite sweet and flavoured with nutmeg; really quite nice if you don’t mind the sugar. I’m not keen on sweet drinks myself. WW had earlier asked for scotch; the barman said he didn’t have any. WW and I were staring at the bottle of Johnny Walker on the top shelf, wondering. An older woman sitting in the dining area—and clearly in charge—said, “Johnny Walker. That’s scotch.” The barman’s gaze wandered up. “Oh,” he said.

The woman in charge announced that the buffet would start at 7:30. In the meantime, more and more people arrived. At the appointed time, the woman in charge went from chaffing dish to chaffing dish, describing the contents. Ribs, turtle, chicken curry, roast turkey, ham, crawfish salad, potato salad, macaroni and cheese, pork, peas and rice; desert was cheesecake, coconut macaroons, or cake. “Plain cake,” she said.

It was wonderful.

Fortunately, we met another pair of cruisers who had rented a golf cart ($60/day) and offered us all a lift back which significantly reduced the mosquito menace. It had been a long day and we were happy to settle into our berth.

And Then There Was Rum

The Nut House signpost in Rum Key

I had my morning tea, then packed up my binoculars, bird book, floating radio and sandals, and headed off in Lady. I paddled north along the beach. It was a perfect day, sunny and warm. I made my way through the scrub, skirting sea grape and aiming for palmetto. I had to lift my feet high for each step so as to clear the wire-like vine that would trap and trip me if I just walked normally. I did a proper Monty Python Silly Walk.

I managed to reach the far side of the island and walked along the beach there. That being the Atlantic side, the beach debris was everywhere. Vast numbers of plastic and glass bottles, bits of rubbish of all sorts. I wanted to race off and return with a hundred garbage bags. Down by the water it wasn’t so bad. The tides keep the lower beach tidy. I had a lovely walk along the sand, then tried to head in, but the ground cover foiled me. I managed to clamber up a rather treacherous coral hillside and had a lovely view over sea and land from my perch. I could see the top of Django’s mast in the distance. I tried to watch birds, but there too, the scrub foiled me. I could hear them all around me, but saw only darts and dodges of them. I spent quite a long time staring at leaves which looked a lot like they might be birds. I’m thinking Whit is right, botany is the way to go. There’s sure lots of that around.

The wind was going to be OK for us to get to Rum Cay and WW had asked that we leave by 11, so I headed back when I judged it was about 10:15 according to the ancient pyramidic scrolls. When I was safely aboard and Lady stowed, we raised anchor. Then I had my second lesson in lashing The Tramp to the trampoline. I am learning, slowly.

I naviguessed us to Rum Cay, again taking a watch on the way. The seas and winds were much calmer. We made the Sumner Point Marina at about 3 p.m. George the Harbourmaster helped us dock and pointed out where to get water. Water is scarce in The Bahamas. A lot is shipped from the Abaco Islands to Nassau; a lot is made by reverse osmosis. Here we are deep in the Outer Bahamas where it's all pretty much RO water. It costs $0.50/gallon.

The Bahamas are expensive; Rum Cay is very expensive. This isn’t surprising. The population has experienced a 25% explosion in the last year, rising to 75 souls from 60. In addition to the people, there is one dog, one cat, and one horse. Everything is brought in by boat or airplane. The inhabitants are among the most charming people we have met so far. Port Nelson, about a mile from the marina, is the main (make that, only) town. All the houses are well maintained. The little Anglican church is simply lovely, carefully painted in white and blue, obviously loved. There is far less of the anomie we've seen on other islands. Garbage is kept in containers, gardens are tended. Can you tell I like it here?

Plans Are Always Changing

It was about 7:30 a.m. when we slipped off from our anchorage and headed down Elizabeth Harbour, through Moriah Harbour and out into Exuma Sound. The wind was from the southeast, which was good enough for the first leg of our voyage, past the northern tip of Long Island. From there, we hoped to head southeast to Rum Cay. The wind was supposed to clock around to the north by the time we reached there.

Naturally, it didn’t.

I played my new video game, Furuno Plotter and Radar, and got us headed to Long Island just fine. We pootled along happily in about 15 to 20 knots of wind and a bit of a swell. As we approached Long Island, things changed. A squall went by just to the north of us. We could see the rain pouring from it. Another was headed our way. And WW said that currents, winds and general stuff often happens off points of land as you round them. All of this combined to make it a bit of a bumpy ride. The second squall passed right overhead, but only spat a bit. However, it brought a significant boost to the winds which rose to gusts of 25 knots and which remained steadfastly from the southeast--the very direction in which Rum Cay lies. We gave it a shot, but 20 miles of hammering into a growing swell and strong winds wasn’t going to happen. Fortunately, a more reasonable course took us to West Bay at Conception Island, about 10 miles away. We had to motor. The wind carried on at 18 to 22 knots for most of the trip, and WW reckoned the swell at as much as 8 feet. It did cause some fairly dramatic pitching, but Django ploughed ahead boatfully.

I took a watch while WW rested…he’d done the lion’s share of the work. I saw what I am pretty sure was an Audubon’s shearwater ducking and diving inches from the waves. Then came the white-tailed tropicbirds. Their tails are longer than they are. They fly like birds with tails that are too long; not really what one would consider graceful. But they are lovely.

As we approached Conception, the wind dropped. We had to wend our way between a couple of coral heads. I was standing on the starboard bow, watching for unmarked heads, when a dolphin swam to the surface in front of me as if in welcome. It is odd how thrilling something like that can be.

It was bliss dropping anchor. From George Town with its 250+ boats at several anchorages, we were off the pristine white sand beach of an uninhabited cay, sharing the space with four other boats.

We had a swim and watched all sorts of fishies that make homes of even the smallest coral heads. Then thorough rinsing and we settled in for RPs, dinner and an early bed. Bashing away like that all day is very tiring, plus the sun and wind. Still, it had gone well and we were in one of the most beautiful places we had yet visited.

George Town, Farewell

We finally bid adieu to George Town, Great Exuma, and set off for Rum Cay bright and early on Tuesday, March 4.

On Sunday, we had spent a quiet day waiting for the weather to change. The day was a series of windy, blustery squalls, pouring down buckets of rain. One of the people we had met the night before, Lee, came by to invite us to dinner with his wife Sherry and two other catamaran couples. He and Sherry are also catamaran people…it was to be a two-hull meal all the way.

We had a great time and learned a lot. The meal was terrific, with each boat contributing a dish. Our hosts made us lovely rum punches. Alan and Patricia brought crackers and a hot spread featuring lots of cheese and mushrooms. Doris and Tom brought a delicious cornbread which we ate with what Lee had described as chicken soup/stew (also exceedingly yummy). Desert was peanut butter brownies. All downed with plenty of wine and lots of sailing yarns.

Monday was sunny and we went for a walk on Volleyball Beach. We have been somewhat constrained in our walks since dense, low growth is a feature of these islands. Palmetto seem to keep the ground clear around them, but the sea grapes and seven-year apples are impenetrable. I managed to make my way a little way inland and watched a Bahama mockingbird sing his heart out. Their song is a long series of repeated and very melodic phrases. WW then invited me to have a rum punch at Chat ‘n’ Chill. It was a very peculiar pinky-orange colour, quite neon. It tasted good, though, and there had definitely been no stinting in the rum section.

We returned to Django to discover that WW had lost his glasses. He does this periodically because he uses them only for reading. He spots land easily ten minutes before I can see it, but can’t read the page in front of him without his glasses. Well, one pair down, two to go.

The weather forecast was promising, so we raised Boffo up on her davits, made a few mild preparations and headed to our berth hoping and praying we’d be off in the morning.

A bit of bad news: no more pictures for now. The camera was mysteriously drenched and, despite my ministrations (and preventing WW from plunging it in a bucket of fresh water), it has failed to come around. I continue my efforts, but am not sanguine.

Third Crew Member on a Roll

Saturday was a lovely sunny day, but the wind was blowing about 20 knots and from the east/southeast. That is not the wind we need to leave here. Provisions were getting low again (we had less than a half bottle of rum), so we made a run in to George Town. That’s about a mile from where we are anchored.

We put our sandals and knapsack into Boffo, revved her up, and set off. One of the techniques used to keep dry in a dinghy, other than full wet-weather gear, is to stand up holding the painter. I tried this and it worked a treat.

We did the shopping. Exuma Markets actually had some fresh vegetables and—oh frabjious day!—oxtail. Knapsack stuffed, youth carrying a bag of ice, and WW burdened with a large bag from the rum shop, we headed back to Boffo. We tipped the lad and WW started dumping our loot into Boffo’s bow. It made it a bit tricky getting on board, since she was bow in and surrounded by many other dinghies, but we managed. Off we went.

Now, keeping dry in a dinghy standing up works a charm…when the wind is behind you. We were heading straight into it on our way back. Within a quarter of the distance, I was drenched, as were all our purchases. WW wasn’t faring much better in the stern. We waved cheerfully as we passed anchored boats and were waved (and laughed) at in return.

Upon arrival at Django, my job is to grab one of Boffo’s painters (she now has two), clamber over the bow onto our swimming steps, and get her lashed until WW can hand me the purchases and get himself aboard. So, soaking wet, I tried to clamber over the sopping and stuffed backpack, the bag of ice (now containing a lot of seawater), the rum bottles, our wee dinghy anchor, and the blades of Boffo’s oars. That’s when the third crew member (TCM) put in an appearance. TCM pushed me, I swear.

It was our first man overboard experience.

A great deal of rinsing and draining and general seawater removal then ensued. Everything got stored OK and we both agreed it was a bit early but definitely beer o’clock.

That evening (which was yesterday, actually), we went in to St. Francis Yacht Club where one of the cruisers was playing guitar and singing, hamburgers and fries were pouring from the kitchen, the beer of the Bahamas Kalik was available in profusion, and a good time was being had by all. We met some very nice people, including a couple who has done the sail from here to Turks and Caicos (our next leg) three times. We are to meet with them later today to pick their brains.

As a closing note (I seem to have a bathroom fixation): the loos at St. Francis are Gulls and Buoys.

The Bog Days of Summer

WW’s approach to things is “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”. This is all well and good, except when his definition of broke varies from, say, mine.

Let’s talk about the head. The head (what you landlubbers call the toilet, loo, bog, etc.) is a delicate piece of plumbing that dislikes…just about everything. The only things to go in it are the usual and TP. No hair, rotting leftovers, dust, female sanitary products, nor, god forbid, paper towel. It is necessary to control that instinctive flick of the wrist that sends things bogward on land with no ill effect. In the head, they will cause cloggage. The way I see it, anything whose inner workings includes a joker valve has to be trouble.

Now, this particular head has been a bit of a misery from the day we moved aboard. It tends to work as it ought, but then, while not in use, it may refill with liquid of unpleasant odour and suspect colour. WW has not considered this “broke”. It has been a sensitive issue…ask my sister. Much labour (pumpings in and out, lubricating, sweat and toil) has gone into keeping it not broke. Obviously, the third crew member (TCM) felt it was time to precipitate repairs. Hence, the small piece of paper towel which jammed ‘er up good.

The first plan was for WW to swim under the boat and see if the blockage could be cleared at the exit grill. Wind and waves made this a not-good choice. So dismantle it was. This began with the task of bailing her empty. I got that job. Yum. Then WW hung head down behind the throne and disconnected pipes and hoses and tubes and things. I took bits and pieces on deck and removed large amounts of mineral build up--entire rocks in some cases. Then WW took all the bits down to their components and we cleaned those. That must have been when the TCM dumped the setting handle (to select tank, empty or out) into the sea. WW tried snorkelling about in search of it, but the sea had taken it to its bosom.

Well, there were rocks inside in tubes and the joker valve was completely everted…it had been installed backwards. It was just as well the loo had been deconstructed. Then WW hung head down some more, kafeeyah in place, and reconstructed. Mind you, he still hadn’t unblocked the blockage. For that, he once again went swimming, a small screwdriver tied to his suit, and picked away at the obstruction which was, as predicted, at the grill. Banging on the hull was the signal for me to pump. I pumped. It worked!!

We now have a head that doesn’t suffer from reflux disorder, that operates properly and efficiently, and that doesn’t smell anything from peculiar to awful. I think the TCM was right. It was broke. I like it fixed.

Wasting Time Again...

Word has it that one Jimmy Buffet used to spend time on Volleyball Beach. There’s a sign in one of the trees: Margaritaville. I do not vouch for the veracity of this tale, but it’s not a bad place to waste time. That said, it would be nice not to be nailed down in George Town by weather. We are chafing at the bit.

We spent our first night back from Canada at the VB anchorage, but then we heard weather was on the way and moved to a more sheltered anchorage in Kidd Cove. On the way, Boffo did it again. This time, she couldn’t break her painter, so she just pulled the whole damn cleat off the transom. Bad, Boffo. Bad. We circled and collected her. Bad, Boffo.

We sat on Django that evening with all lights out (except, of course, our masthead light since we were at anchor) and watched a series of spectacular thunderstorms hammer their way across the heavens about 20 miles north of us. It is the first time I have seen lightning heading the way it actually goes, from the ground up. The wind picked up dramatically and we watched in awe. We are lucky to have ducked the storms…they are responsible for the meltdown of a lot of expensive electronic equipment on boats.

When we awoke in the morning, the wind was still strong and had come around 180 degrees. We were getting a very good view of the waves smashing against the unforgiving rocks of the Great Exuma coast. We agreed to move from our Kidd Cove anchorage back to the one off Volleyball Beach.

Once there, we spent a quiet day. WW probably fixed something. He does that a lot. Then we prepared to go out to dinner (galley slave’s night off). That was when we discovered the third crew member (TCM) had been at it again.

I don’t think I’ve told you about the TCM. WW recently recruited him/her. That’s the one who breaks the painter, pulls out cleats and…oh dear oh dear…puts a piece of paper towel down the head. Bad, TCM. Bad. WW was seriously Not Pleased.

We went into the St. Francis Yacht Club (not far from the Chat ‘n’ Chill) for dinner. It was pleasant enough, but the fish was frozen, not fresh, which was disappointing, and WW was looking forward to a day of dismantling the head…not conducive to dining pleasure.