Month: February 2021

We left Staniel in what feels like was a previous lifetime, but in actual fact was… maybe five days ago? Wowza! The days are long and packed, and we pivot between activities so frequently they often seem to multiple within themselves.

Our first stop was Galliot Cay after a really nice afternoon sail on the bank. Our plan was to leave quite early that morning and make it further south to Rudder Cay, but one of our own needed some engine help, and the engineer among us was dispatched to work, while the rest of waited and enjoyed an easy morning aboard and wifi enough to ‘get to school’ for the girls and to ‘get to work’ for us.

We hadn’t been to Galliot before, and as soon as the anchor was set, we threw our snorkel gear into the dinghy and went for a nice drift snorkel around a nearby island. Not a ton to see fish-wise, but the coral was abundant, which is always a promising and comforting sight.

The next morning we decided to head out quite early to get offshore for our long southbound day, and were immediately deterred by the steep seas banging around in the cut; the tidal current meeting the wind made for an experience that was too much for Chickadee, and most importantly the dinghy, clanging around in the davits with excessive force from the drops. (Not to mention my piping hot, full first cup of coffee that was thrown from the cockpit table and sloshed on every surface nearby. Boo hiss.) We turned around and headed south on the bank side, and planned to wait for slack water to attempt a different cut. Rudder Cay it was after all!

We dropped anchor, had breakfast, and by that time one of our buddy boats had appeared, so we had some play time with them before our noontime, slack water departure. We snorkeled at David Copperfield’s sunken ‘mermaid playing a piano sculpture’ (he owns nearby Musha Cay, and likely sunk the piano next door to avoid throngs of curious snorkelers in his ‘front yard’), and again around a small island bluff that was rife with activity. Shortly after our arrival we had a warning from fellow snorkelers about an increasingly aggressive reef shark. (We didn’t stay long enough to learn more!)

A couple of long days ‘on the outside’ later, a beautiful and quiet anchorage in between, and once again a big zilch on the mahi front, we made it to Georgetown. I find this place bittersweet in a lot of ways. Sweet because the kids have multiple avenues in which to meet new friends- beachside gatherings, tree swings, beach volleyball courts, or just poking around the neighborhood (anchorage), bitter because it’s likely our southernmost point before we turn around to head slowly for the barn. (I say likely because once again we find ourselves poised and eager to find a window to get out to Conception Island for a night or two, but don’t yet know if it’ll be possible.) Sweet because the grocery store here is abundant with a wide variety of produce and cheeses (mmm, CHEEEESE), but overwhelming because there are SO many boats here. I love meeting new people, and of course there is a very common thread here to pull us all together, but ultimately for me, it’s a lot, and I look forward to the cozy stillness of the boat even more each day that passes.

We have gotten off the boat, however, and spent one of our days here in the ‘big city’. We busied ourselves with our various shore-based tasks while the kids named the local wildlife on the dinghy dock (the turtles were social, the pufferfish, less so, which is probably for the best). We then hit the straw market for some braids and gifts, had a delicious lunch ashore, and came back to Chat N’ Chill, the afternoon boater hangout.

The rhythms are familiar and relaxed but full of activity; the girls have spent hours stringing boats to boats to boats off the stern for balancing/gaming/who knows what kind of entertainment, we’ve hiked to the Monument and found our name in the sand below, hit up a kid’s birthday party on Flip Flop Beach, explored the ocean side beach, and read with our toes in the sand. Throw in schooling, work, hours of FaceTiming friends for the girls, the constant boat tidying tasks required, cooking delicious meals, sharing others with friends, the books that we’re all devouring, and it’s hard to believe that we’re only awake for 16 hours a day. (And it’s no wonder we crash earlier here than any land-based sleep routines.)

We’re gearing up to spend a lazy lunchtime at the Peace & Plenty beach bar/restaurant, where I’ll gladly sit in a lounge chair and read the day away while the kids bounce on the floating trampoline that may or may not be a huge draw for our group. (The ‘bar’ part is helpful, too.) Happy Sunday, all!

SAND, sand, everywhere…

We aboard the good ship Chickadee are in the business of sand redistribution. It’s a simple two-way street (beach sand in, boat sand back over the side from the dustpan), but the roads themselves are littered with housekeeping chores, laundry requirements, and near-homicidal thoughts by our captain. Beach days are the kids’ favorites, but the idea of managing all of that sand on the boat end of things makes Andy just about as crazy as anything else. Inevitably the sand didn’t all get washed out of our suits on that last dip in the water, and goodness knows no matter how much ‘shaking out’, we transport quite a bit in our bags each day. (Stuck to water bottles, picnic things, books, etc.) This year we made the excellent choice to buy fancier new beach towels which are amazing at releasing sand even when wet, as opposed to the sand-sucking terrycloth we’d used until now. BUT. Fancy towels aside, the sand comes aboard. We spray the kids off on the stern, we shake the bags, we snap the towels a few more times… and the sand is still here. Hair is brushed, sand falls out. Dry bathing suits are taken off the rail, sand pours out. You pick up that one little thing that you forgot to put away last night, and poof, sand jumps into your arms. I personally don’t mind it too much. For a kid who freaked her freak out if that toe seam was moved to the ‘wrong’ spot when putting shoes on as a kid, it’s amazing what I’m willing to put up with when it comes to salt and sand. The girls joke that they sleep on the beach, there is often so much sand in their bed (falling from the depths of their thick tangled hair each night as it dries). Andy, not so much. 

After a whirlwind of time here in Staniel Cay (laundry, provisions, dinner ashore with the monohull families one night complete with shark-petting (we’re back at the girls’ favorite conch stand/nurse shark feeding hole), beach pig visiting, Thunderball snorkeling (the Bond movie’s famous site), boom jumping and a lovely gathering on a comfortably spacious catamaran another evening, we were able to swap our sand concerns for wind concerns on Saturday night.

With gusts forecasted into the 40s, we had set a second anchor earlier in the day, but also spent a semi-sleepless night of anchor watching. We’re near an ocean cut where the current is brisk at times, and also in opposition to the wind direction, strong as it was (for most of the day it was a sustained 35kts with gusts higher). It felt like a puzzle to figure out which way we should be sitting, and which anchor is doing the work at times, but once we did, and feeling great comfort in our ground tackle, rest was better, and we cozied in for a lazy Sunday of wind-watching, movie-watching, and definitely not waist-watching.

Books were read, food was eaten, drawings were colored, Minecraft was Minecrafted (technically term that Lily would approve of, I’m sure), cribbage was cribbaged, the dinghy never left its davits, and not a new grain of sand came aboard. In fact, I had a little cleaning jag at one point yesterday, and I’m now confident that we have less sand on board than the day before, which feels like a miracle. Thanks, wind!

It’s been a while since we alit on the shores of Highbourne Cay, and we’ve compiled some noteworthy and sometimes insane experiences since we’ve been out of data reach. A lengthy summation, in partial netherworld form, since that’s what this incredible life so often feels like.

Once upon a time, in a world known as the Exumas Land and Sea Park, the kid boats converged upon a lovely island called Shroud Cay. So many boats! So many kids! So many new friends! The mission was clear: get as wet, as salty and gather as many memories as possible. (Also to eat a lot while doing so.)

One fine morning, the brave monohull denizens took a trip ashore to find the freshwater well on the south end of the island. Result: found. Salinity: Fresh-ish, and rimmed with algae. Emergency purposes in a pinch! That day? Not so thirsty.

That same afternoon brought the monohulls and the catamarans together: through the mangroves the dinghies and children lured their parents. On the shores of the ocean beach there were cliffs to jump, beach games to play (there were eleven children, after all), and Cirque du Soleil performers to entertain! (And I’m serious here, there were Cirque du Soleil performers, and they were certainly entertaining. After all of their efforts with our group, I seriously thought about acrobat-napping the woman, since she could have tripled-dutied as our nanny, house acrobat (we all have those, right?) and French teacher- she was adorable and as energetic as I never remember being in my twenties, and clearly loved kids, but also she was very fast, and sadly got away.)

Since the afternoon apparently didn’t hold enough intrigue for the adventure-hungry ELEVEN children, they decided to take the slow route home, in that they decided to swim/drift with the flooding tide through the mangroves instead of mounting their noble inflatables. The adults drifted the dinghies alongside and swapped snacks with one another while the kids weaved their way over confused sea turtles and perhaps the odd lemon shark. As all good fairy tales end in a beautiful sunset, the children flooded out into our anchorage just as the fiery orb dipped its toe into the horizon. 

BUT! The tale is not over. That was but one day in the life.

The salty crew then beat their way upwind to neighboring Hawksbill Cay, where there were not only endless sand flats, but snorkeling, paddle-boarding and general land exploration and mayhem, all of which ended in a beach bonfire. (The land exploration was for dry wood. And these fires are allowed in the Park? Hmm, sure!) Crew members engineered a cheese table, and we roasted bread on sticks. A hearty apres-dinner feast (because who says a meal should end when the meal is over?!), and a cobbled-together celebration. (Necessary 2021 side note: this is a land where COVID is in and of itself practically a fairy tale. We had all been tested before and again since arrival, we have taken two weeks of health surveys, and have been literally living a quarantined life on board since. It’s a miraculous wonder that we can be with people –touch them even, gasp!- and no one talks about a pandemic. Embarrassingly privileged of us all, we completely realize.)

The Exumas Land & Sea Park was vast, and lo and behold, there were more kid boats to fold into our ranks. Warderick Wells found us yet another family (a monohull for those counting), and a sand bar hangout (with a reef shark circling the edge, perhaps waiting for toes to fall deeper?) for our introductory afternoon. All meet and greets should be so pleasant.

Because Warderick Wells isn’t conquered without some hiking, Boo Boo Hill was climbed, which resulted in finding our boat name board yet again. Success! Less success: the Sharpie to add the year to the board was left on the beach, which meant we brought the board with us to amend and drop on our way north next month. (But it’ll be updated! And more colorful!)

After the swelliest night of non-sleep, we ‘awoke’ (does it count to say ‘wake up’ when you were never really asleep?) to start the day, again with a hike. The brave Rickadee crew battled our way through poison wood* forests (it was mentioned that a video or audio account would have been amazing along our line of eight: “On your right! Then crouch down- it’ll be on the left again just after that!” and so on and so on…), and along razorlike shorelines of eroding limestone. Three cheers for flip flops as hiking shoes! (I owe Rainbow a serious ‘thank you’ for not shredding to pieces after years of me abusing them in such situations.) We crossed to the ocean side and hiked along to the pirate’s lair, saw a very jittery hutia (an adorable rabbit-sized rodent that inhabits Warderick Wells) on the beach on the bank side, and a number of smaller ‘freshwater’ wells inland on our way back across. In doing so, we proud Rickadeeans defined what roasting, sweating, starving, thirsty and exhausted was for the day; sinking into the water after finding our dinghies again was a TREAT.

Popping outside (to the east of the islands) was the order of the day after our hike that showcased both seas and their conditions- we had a lovely sail down to O’Brien’s Cay, where the good ship Chickadee now sways gently on her anchor. 

Our kid crew has amassed together again, and in our short 30 hours here we’ve cocktail hour’d with the best of them (kids as shark bait playing on the paddle board and floats after shark hour), snorkeled at the Park’s beautiful Sea Aquarium (where the sargeant majors ‘hup to’ if you have some bread to offer, and often even when you don’t), and spent the day on a favorite beach with a sweeping cut just feet off the beach itself: a ten foot deep channel with surprisingly good sea life deposited within the beautiful sand banks. (Today’s exciting sighting was a spotted moray eel, popping out from time to time to ‘bark’ at the pestering squirrelfish, who were clearly drawn to its cave/home.) 

Since we plan on waiting here (ish) until the winds die down more to keep our further southing to a minimum of upwind slogging, we have more time to explore these beautiful options. More snorkeling, more climbing, more swimming, more of everything but fresh produce and decent snack foods. It’s been a long while since we have seen a grocery store, and while we’re at it, a washing machine. Looking forward to the always-fleeting-but-still-insanely-appealing feeling of salt-free clothing, towels and sheets. LUXURY, I tell you. 

Speaking of luxury, Mark Zuckerburg’s yacht is nearby just east of the islands (it draws too much to play in the Bahamas bank, and is ‘shunned’ to the ocean side of all of this fun); should we just dinghy over and see if they have any asparagus and/or Pringles? Problem solved!

*Poison Wood note: Poison Wood (Metopium toxiferum) is scattered about on most islands, and can be a complete bear to deal with if it touches bare skin. Years ago Andy had rainwater drip off of a leaf, and ended up with a festering blistering rash that lasted for weeks. We try hard to avoid a repeat, and Violet is our resident poisonwood scout- she’s always dutifully on the lookout. A vigilant eye (and a helpful V) is a small price to pay for the views and sights of the island trails!

Our pre-dawn departure routine becomes more efficient, quieter and faster each time we take off. Not that we make a habit of such exits, but with winds most advantageous for a good sail early in the day, we wanted to utilize the best window for our passage to the Exumas. Lee cloths up, snubber off the anchor, a final tidy below to check for unlashed items that may soar, unlocking the gimbal of the stove, a cockpit clean-up and fresh water bottles at the helm, it’s then time to wake the girls and have them move forward into our bunk so they aren’t jolted awake by the engine adjacent to their dream cycles. Andy does his engine checks, gets our navigation up and running, sets the main, I hoist the anchor, and we’re off. 

Yesterday morning the sun seemed to jump up out of the horizon; I barely had time to finish a cup of coffee in the brightening day’s coolness before up it came, beaming into the cockpit. Since our laundry hung the day before didn’t get a chance to dry before the dew hit, I’m grateful for the BTUs, and as we crossed the Yellow Bank later in the day, scattered with coral heads lurking beneath us, we were happy to have it high overhead for maximum ground visibility. 

We had a quick 14nm jump off of soundings on our way back to the bank from our Egg Island anchorage, and we tried our hand with our last ballyhoo, only to come up empty once again. Just as we started reeling it in, we had a hit, but it was something very adept at sneaking our bait off the lure, and carrying on with its morning. Phooey.

It feels a bit greedy to be disappointed at this point, as for the past two nights, we have speared lobster for our dinner. There is something so satisfying about directly providing for ourselves, not to mention the extremely fresh and tasty dinner on our plates. A bit (or a LOT!) more practice with our spear aim, and we’ll work on catching some fish to add to our self-reliance repertoire. (I can’t seem to get the picture of Tom Hanks wearing a grimy rag/diaper, spearing fish handily in the shallows of his Castaway Island ‘home’ out of my head, and while one day we hope to have his catch percentages, I’m going to pray that my starvation level doesn’t come as close before we do.)

(Fishing update: we DID get greedy, and threw the line out again on the bank. Bummer of a not-surprising story: we caught a thrashing, gnashing barracuda, and had quite the time getting the hook out to release him. I’ll save my neurotoxins for another time, thank you very much.)

Backing up a few days, after leaving Harbour Island, we had a nice day and night in Spanish Wells’ Yacht Haven Marina, with a beautiful freshwater pool and palatial showers. We did some laundry, pretended to care about the Superbowl, topped up on fuel and water and headed west to Egg Island, a remote spot with great reviews from everyone we spoke to. Reviews all confirmed: a mangrove to explore, great reefs for our lobstering and snorkeling adventures, a beautiful beach, and a peaceful anchorage perfect for the girls to paddle, kayak and swim between the boats. 

Today, meanwhile, we woke up in Highbourne Cay, our first Exumas stop, and later will be the long-awaited 2021 Rickadee Reunion! We’re all quite excited to see our pals, and also to introduce them to our new friends. It’ll be throwing two more crafters into Violet and Maeve’s mix, and the teens can do their teen thing, hopefully together at points as hormones and moods allow. (Currently, Lily’s ‘teen thing’ is connecting with her cousin and friends on Minecraft as often as she has time and Wifi. It’s only slightly/very annoying, but we keep reminding ourselves that it’s her method of communication, important in these awkward years, and hey! they’re not working on a crime syndicate, so perspective helps. We’re also light in the mood department so far, so a hard turn on the crossed fingers for that’s continuation.)

First, ‘to’ school and work to maximize usage of Highbourne’s tower! Always with the little things..

We now sit swinging on the hook off of Harbour Island. Here for the deep, flat pink sand beaches and abundant grocery stores, it’s also great people watching. As previously mentioned, the fat cats of the US use this as a quick escape, and the giant sun hats and stylish beach cover-ups are always on parade.

We crossed down over the Providence Channel from Little Harbor on Thursday, leaving just before dawn. It was a lovely day at sea, but we came up short on the fishing front, sad to say. We had two lines out all day, and had not one strike until about 3nm off of our waypoint at the start of the Devil’s Backbone. We watched in serious excitement as a blue marlin first stalked, and then attacked one of our ballyhoo before snapping our 150lb test line at the cleat, and giving us a show as he realized the error of his hunt. The poor thing flailed and streaked out of the water, trying to shake the painful lure. (And now we’re really trying not to imagine the fact that it has a hot pink squid lure in its lip, and 50ft of line trailing behind it. Sad face.) The good news is that we got the entire show on camera, the electric blue of the fish flying through the air, the bad news is that our freezer is still void of fish, and our fish taco night swiftly turned to grilled pizza night. (*Pro Tip that I learned that day: proof dough in the cabin closest to the engine- perfect temp!*)

We did have an electrical gremlin that stopped our alternator from charging for a time, but after opening everything up and sourcing every wire with some level of frustration, Andy shrugged, put it back together and figured he’d work on it once we arrived here. After the last screw was in the panel, he bumped it in that ‘hit the side of the TV for better reception’ move, and voila! Tach was functioning and batteries were charging. Still something to add to the work list…

Our new kid boat friends are here as well, and Andy and Emiel spent yesterday on the hunt for lobsters. They geared up, speared up, and dinghied back to the Devil’s Backbone to try their luck. Of which they had none. Hilariously though, the large catamaran in-between our boats saw their efforts along with their empty-handed return, only to wave them over to offer them the lobster in their freezer. They had ‘serious hunters’ for guests last week, and they don’t eat much of it themselves. Better still, they invited us to dinner, where they cooked it for us. While frustrated for the shortest while that they hadn’t done what they set out to do, in the end.. they did get lobster on our plates, and gathered new friends as well. (Thank you, s/v Cameo, and well done, chaps!)

Looking for winds from most any direction but south, our plan is to work our way back along the Devil’s Backbone (a very narrow corridor of good water between the shores of Eleuthera and a nasty reef) tomorrow, and anchor somewhere near Egg Island for more lobstering. Then on through Current Cut, and south to the Exumas.

This will give the girls a hopeful two more days of solid WiFi connection for joining in on their classes (which while in the moment they’re never that charged up for, but the knowledge that they’re in line with their peers and actually getting to lay their eyes on them is huge for them both), and will give us easy work days without worrying about data plans and gigabyte usage. Both Andy and I are working quite a bit more than we normally do on this trip, which has been good and productive, but also a dance between who’s using which computer, what its charge is, and what time classes are. It’s a good thing I like to handwrite drafts, because I have to make very efficient use of my ‘laptop time’ and blast things out quickly.

Back to finishing Kon-Tiki in the cockpit with my coffee. While I would have actually loved to have been a crew member on their raft, I’m pretty grateful for this buoyant fiberglass number giving me this cozy perch!

After a day and a half of gale-force winds (a fellow boater’s assessment-our anemometer isn’t functioning, and Andy remarkably turned down my offer to be hoisted aloft during the blow to fix it), today’s 20kts is relatively calm and quiet. Monday night’s ‘rest’ felt like we were underway, since we were swinging on the mooring and heeling over with the more violent gusts so frequently. We kept joking about who was holding watch, because they must have been having a hell of time at the helm. The frontal system stretched from Honduras to Maine, so while our Mt. Desert Island family and friends were the recipients of snow and then rain (aka the “Coastal Classic”), we were pummeled with wind and temperatures that tested our long-sleeve packing choices.

Despite the ‘breeze’, we were able to connect with another kid boat here in the harbor, who much to our luck and thrill, have two girls the same ages. We parents fell into easy conversation on a nice long beach walk (on the leeward side things were a lot more reasonable, and the kids are always happy with good surf anyway), and the girls bodysurfed and generally tried to see how much of the beach they could bring back to the boat in their hair. They’re headed on the same general path that we are, so we’ll be lucky to spend more time with them again soon. Proof once more that we’re never too far from new friends with shared interests; such a comforting part of this cruising racket.

The remote schooling sessions for the day have ended, so we have left our Hope Town nest to see what the Sea of Abaco looks like on our way down the chain. Violet just had a virtual field trip with a ranger at Acadia National Park where she (we- it’s a small boat) learned about the bats of Acadia (and beyond). When we weren’t sure that she’d be able to make it onto GoogleMeets this afternoon, I told her that I could improvise with a presentation that would consist largely of me gagging and focusing on my ability to try not to think about bats in a general sense, she politely declined. In the end I was very grateful for Ranger Lisa and her actual presentation, and my interest in the hairy, toothy, leathery, unfortunately white-nosed things was indeed piqued.

The winds are settling, as will the seas, and I imagine we’ll have a great sail this afternoon, landing somewhere near Little Harbor for the night. That cut will be our jumping off point to move down toward the Spanish Wells/Harbour Island area for the weekend. As the winds die down it appears as those tomorrow will be a motor-sailing kind of passage, but we shall see what the day brings.

Most importantly, there is ballyhoo in the freezer, awaiting tomorrow’s [hopeful] mahi catch!