What is a typical day like in Paradise (aka george Town, Exuma, Bahamas)? We'll try to give you a sample.
At 8:00, sipping our morning coffee, we listen to the George Town Cruisers' Net, a transmission on VHF radio that offers weather forecast and announcements by boaters in the area. If we need to borrow a tool for boat work, or want info, we announce it on the Net, or offer help if someone needs something we have. The Net helps solidify the bonds of this cruising communityof 100 to 400 boats (the general population range from December to mid-March), anchored in 6 to 8 places around the 8- mile-long harbor.
Weather in the southern Exumas is amazing. We are maybe 3 miles from the Tropic of Cancer, where the true tropics start. The forecasts never even mention temperatures; every night it's in the upper 60s to low 70s, and in the upper 70s to low 80s daytime. Water is 72 to 78 degrees. Winds are generally frolm an easterly direction (NE to SE) except when cold fronts blow through.
After listening to the Net we might do some boat maintenance work, but mostly we neglected that side of things during our 2.5 months in George Town; too many distractions and temptations. Some mornings we get in our dinghy and ride the mile across harbor to town (a very wet ride if it's windy), where we can shop at the good if pricey food market, buy excellent local tomatoes from ladies who also sell straw baskets in an open-air market, go to the phone office to do e-mail, schmooze with other cruisers, sometimes eat lunch out (cracked conch is a favorite), and check for mail or faxes.
One morning a week there is a watercolor group that meets on one of the beaches; Berj and I attended a few times and really enjoyed it. There are also morning yoga sessions and group beach walks. Or we might go snorkeling on one of the many nearby reefs - late morning to early afternoon the light is best . Sometimes Janet takes the dinghy to shore, walks 5 minutes to the ocean side of Stocking Island, and goes for a run. The beach there is about 2 miles long, nearly empty of people, unspoiled and stunningly beautiful.
After lunch Berj joins the 2:30 pm beach volleyball group, a very casual gathering of all levels of ability or, in Janet's case, disability. Volleyball Beach is also a good place just to hang out and chat with others, and there's a beach bar called Chat and Chill that serves good eats and beer (the local brew is called Kalik).
Evenings we usually avoid going to town. In December and early January, several dinghies at docks had gas tanks stolen or siphoned, and when you see numerous men walking around drinking out of paper bags even at 10 a.m., it makes a night on the town less than appealing. (We asked a Bahamian cop about the public drinking laws, and he said: "As long as it be in the bag, mon, nobody bother you. And you can drink and drive as long as you don't be too impaired.")
Much socializing goes on aboard boats in the evenings. We've met some great people and enjoyed drinks, dinner or dessert aboard a number of boats (including our own). The custom is to bring your own beverage and enjoy food prepared by the hosts. One woman made us delicious pizzas. Berj cut a mouthpiece into a conch shell and if we're aboard at sunset, he plays the traditional blast on that.
Often we spend a quiet evening watching movies on videotape, which we exchange with other cruisers (there is no TV unless one has a $1,500 satellite aboard). Berj is usually abed first - by 9 p.m. or so - while Janet may read until about 10. But at least a few times a week the wind shifts and/or it rains overnight. Then we get up to do an anchor watch, making sure our boat (or a nearby one) doesn't drag its anchor and play bumper boats. As winter wears on, the boats get more tightly packed. High winds, especially at night, can be very anxiety-producing, but we,ve been fortunate to avoid any entanglements. We also collect rainwater and once got 17 gallons in about 30 minutes. It's the best tasting, softest water around.
Other than that we rescued a couple of guys whose dinghy flipped over in waves, and even helped them snorkel around recovering spilled gear; heard a free lecture by a well-known Caribbean cruiser whose book we own; attended a great free concert by a woman who is a cruising troubadour and sings about cruising stuff that is very amusing and right up most cruisers' alley.
The other side of Paradise
Daily life in George Town, Exumas may sound just too idyllic to be believed. So here, as Paul Harvey used to say, is the rest of the story.
Cruising in a place like this is indeed a pleasure and a blessing, but it has complexities with which we usually don't have to deal shoreside. Such as generating electricity, getting clean fresh water, disposing of garbage and sewage (my favorite), and dinghy butt. The latter is the diaper-rash-like condition caused by riding long distances in the rubberized dinghy, inevitably ending up with a wet, salty backside.
There are few marinas here, and most cruisers prefer to anchor in harbors anyway. Yes it's mainly because we are cheapskates, but there's also greater freedom, privacy, and connection to nature at anchor than at a dock. The marina dock, though, usually has electrical power into which we can plug to run our cooler (fridge/freezer), by far the greatest user of electricity, plus lights, TV, CD player, etc.
Otherwise we get electricity from our wind generator, if winds are above 10-12 knots, or by running a gasoline-powered generator. These feed power into our marine batteries for daily use. But if the batteries aren't continually topped up with a sufficient charge, a corrosion-like process called sulfidation makes them less and less efficient, ultimately dead weight. We have learned plenty about electricity, chemistry, AC-DC power, magnetism, etc. - scarcity of electrical power (and the need to generate it oneself) bedevils all cruisers and is an obsessive conversation topic. Many have gadgets we lack, such as electric winches, microwave ovens, even washers and dryers, that use far more power than we consume on our simple Mat-J.
Then there's water. The Bahamas have very few fresh-water sources and produce most water by reverse osmosis (RO) of seawater. It tastes great and is clean but requires expensive plants to produce. So fresh RO water here costs 60 to 75 cents per gallon. (We use about 3 or 4 gallons a day, less than most cruisers.) Rainwater is free and delicious, but often scarce. Fortunately we have a buddy on a trawler with his own watermaker - a handy $4,000 item - who has more than he needs and fills up a 6-gallon can for us, free, every few days. Water, hauled via dinghy and hoisted on deck, is mighty heavy, hence our bulging biceps.
Garbage disposal isn't too big a problem in George Town, because Exuma Markets provides a big dumpster for cruisers' use. But during the 10 days we cruised down the Exumas chain from Nassau, there was no place to dispose of garbage (unless you're a pig and just dump bags on remote islands, as some do). So it ends up fermenting in its plastic bags in one of the cockpit storage lockers. Very fragrant after a few days. At least we didn't get maggots, as some have.
Sewage is supposed to be kept in a holding tank inside the boat, and disposed of at a pump-out station or more than 3 miles offshore. We try to abide by that . . . . At least we don't have a "Y" valve, which lets the sewage out into the water directly from the head (toilet). Carrying sewage around in the boat can also be a fragrant experience if all valves and fittings aren't perfectly sealed. Is anything ever perfect?
So there you have the underside of Paradise. Not to mention food prices at the stores here - most things other than staples (eggs, bread, milk, oil) are imported and very costly. Like $5 for a can of tuna, $4.50 for a bag of pretzels, $6.50 for 32 ounces of plain yogurt. Meat is exorbitant and not of great quality. (But we have lobster . . .) Rum is cheap but wine is triple the US price. Local produce, while limited to tomatoes, grapefruit, cabbage, onions, limes, is excellent. So even on the worst days life isn't at all bad here.
A trip to a Far Out Island (it was far out, man)
Mati-J is back among the 300 or so cruising boats anchored in Elizabeth Harbour (George Town), after a 5-day sojourn out to Conception Island. It's about 50 miles east- northeast out in the Atlantic Ocean, an uninhabited 5 x 7-mile island that's a national park, pristine and beautiful. Conception is surrounded by coral reefs that stretch 4 miles northward, with huge, towering coral formations and countless species of tropical fish. A true snorkeling paradise.
Sadly, a hurricane clobbered the area 3 years ago, stirring up tons of sand underwater. Lots of the corals died, and while they are now regenerating, the lobsters and many larger fish are no longer around. We saw a few grouper but they know a spear when they see one, and were not to be had. Berj did catch a few good-fighting yellow jacks off the boat.
We had a great 4 days at Conception, walking the long beach (with an old shipwreck imbedded in the rocks), snorkeling, and taking our dinghy into the mangrove creeks inhabited by turtles and large conchs. Snorkeling was like flying among huge underwater coral buildings and canyons - really spectacular. A peaceful, lovely island above and below the water.
Our sail out was close-hauled into wind; a bit wet but not bad. The downwind sail back was faster, more fun but also more vigorous. We had 20 knots of wind and more, plus 6 to 8 foot waves, some of them very muscular. Steering with the tiller was strenuous, trying to keep Mati-J's stern pointed into the oncoming waves. Often the bigger waves come in trains of 3 to 5, so one or more of those would catch us sideways and push us onto our beam - the rail often in the water. Tiring but a fun challenge learning to handle the boat in those seas. By evening both of us felt as if we'd been wrestling bears, and slept for 10 hours that night.
A cruisers' community
Cruising has various connotations, which include (a) travel on a cruise ship, or (b) cruising the streets/bars/etc. for romantic partners. Among boaters it has the specific meaning of "people who live and travel for a significant period of time on boats." For the past 18 months, we have been cruisers aboard our Mati-J, from Toronto to the Florida Keys, up to Chesapeake Bay and back southward to the Bahamas.
George Town seems (to our novice eyes) the ultimate cruising community. It's like summer camp for adults - with all activities optional. Some have suggested it should be the subject of a sociological study as a model community. (With, of course, the usual array of good citizens, curmudgeons, misfits, divas, leaders and losers.)
Among the activities from which we may choose here (aside from the Cruisers' Regatta; more on that in another chapter):
* Women Aboard, a weekly meeting of women cruisers that covers topics from medical emergencies, to favorite gadgets, to earning money while cruising. (Contrary to the men's suspicions, this group has not - yet - discussed 50 ways to deep-six the captain without leaving evidence.)
* The Ham Net - weekly lunches and practice for the tests that license people to transmit on long-distance (ham and single sideband) radio frequencies - very useful for emergency and long-distance communication.
* Dozens of coral reefs, beaches and coves for great fishing, swimming, snorkelling and shelling, including some "clothing optional" beaches.
* Cruiser-organized info/practice sessions on topics such as weaving with palm fronds (Berj wove a unique hat after just one lesson); watercolor painting; use of seashells and coral in decoration, jewelry, etc.; planning and "buddy boating" for long voyages (especially from here to the Caribbean and South America; or to Cuba and Mexico); book and video swaps; and beach pot-luck "happy hours" or dinners. One evening we enjoyed the memorable - and digestively challenging - "Death by Chocolate," to which each participant brings a chocolate treat to share. Includes bonfire and optional sunset swim (or sink).
* Besides the morning George Town Cruisers' Net, we have evening broadcasts of news and music, organized by individual cruisers. One 80-year-old (who sails alone and plays a mean game of beach volleyball) provides a nightly program of jazz and big band music during dinner hour. Another fellow set up his own, one-watt radio station on FM radio, so those anchored within a half-mile radius could enjoy nonstop, uninterrupted music from the 1970s and '80s.
Cruisers who have suffered from equipment failures, family crises, illnesses, emergencies, and mundane problems find a tremendously supportive community at George Town, not just willing but eager to help in every way. Short of being in the bosom of one's family, it is a cruisers' paradise in good times and bad. We've never experienced anything like it!
When cruisers arrive in George Town (whether for the first or 50th time), those already here say "Welcome home!" And when we leave, we wish each other "Fair winds and following seas."
Gotta regatta
The 2003 Annual George Town Cruising Regatta was a fun, hectic, exhausting, sun-soaked week of perfect weather. If you want to check out the action, go to the Web site at http://www.georgetowncruisingregatta.org/
If they had a 2003 Mr. Regatta award, Berj should win it. Janet volunteered on children's day (in charge of face painting and pirate treasure maps), but Berj was the real star. He entered the Fun Volleyball Tournament plus the Softball Tournament - held the same day, for reasons that defy logic - and entered Mati-J in both sailing races (an 8-mile race inside the harbor on March 4 plus a 25-mile race around the island on March 6). He also submitted one of the 16 designs in the competition for next year's regatta t-shirt (it was great but didn't win).
After 4 hours of hard play under a blazing sun, Berj's volleyball team won 2nd place out of 9 teams. At the U.S. Army vs. cruisers softball game that same night, Berj got the award for Most Improved Male Player of the Year (with about 25 players, this is a big deal). And he led the motley crew of the Mati-J to third-place finishes in her class in both races - no small feat for a cement boat in light to moderate breezes! The surprised and bemused comment by the race judges at the awards presentation, when they handed over our 2 flags, 2 certificates and 2 bottles of rum, was: "Well, they've proven once and for all that cement does float!"
Part of the race around the island involves fishing, with a prize for largest fish caught while sailing the race. One of our capable volunteer crew members caught 2 barracuda, but both were smaller than the fish already caught by others, so we freed them.
We met many wonderful people in George Town, and re-met some we first encountered a year before in Marathon, Florida. We rarely know each other's last names or what we once did for a living. It doesn't matter much. We all get to act like adult kids in Paradise.
After the regatta (which ended March 8) the boats begin to head north towards other parts of the Bahamas, the U.S. and Canada (there were just about as many Canadians as Americans here). We were among those departing on Tuesday, March 11, heading up the Exumas chain of islands. A sad and fond farewell to an unforgettable place with wonderful memories.
Don't try this at home!
Perhaps we should have re-read the "safe spear-fishing" instructions in our cruising guidebook before we went after that succulent 10-pound grouper off Rat Cay on March 11. On our first afternoon at anchor after leaving Elizabeth Harbor in George Town, Berj opted to stay in the dinghy while Janet and friends Ann & Ira (traveling in tandem aboard Summerwind) snorkelled on a stunning coral reef. Ira spotted the grouper in 12 feet of water, hiding under a rock (as groupers like to do) and, using Berj's Hawiian sling-powered spear, he shot it perfectly through the head. The grouper struggled mightily, so Ira decided we should leave it for a few minutes rather than try to bring it up to the surface; it might come off the spear.
Big mistake! When Janet swam down to look a couple of minutes later, right there amid a school of jacks near our grouper loomed a large dark-brown shark. He was maybe 8 feet long and not a dozen feet away, swimming purposefully towards us in search of the source of that distressed fish-thrashing. Janet screamed "Shark!" and the 3 snorkelers swam like mad for the 2 dinghies. We never found the spear. The shark must have snatched our future supper, still impaled, then used the spear as a toothpick.
Berj had his revenge a couple of days later when anchored by Fowl Cay. He caught two moderate-sized grouper from the boat (safely, with a fishing rod), and we enjoyed a fried-grouper dinner after all.
We spent 5 very pleasant days sailing north through the southern Exumas. The weather and winds were ideal, the sailing fantastic. Plenty of good snorkeling on various reefs in crystal-clear water, seeing all sorts of tropical fish, another (smaller) shark, barracuda, sting rays, porpoises, a huge sea turtle, and the many bizarre and beautiful forms of live coral (basket, brain, sponge, elkhorn, fan, and plenty we can't name).
The morning of March 16 we headed across Exuma Sound for a 55-mile sail to the long, narrow island of Eleuthera. The day was clear and winds were good. After shoving through steep, 6-foot standing waves as we left the shallow water of the banks (caused by opposing wind and current), we had a fine day's sail along with Summerwind, arriving at the large harbor of Rock Sound on Eleuthera at 5 p.m.
Good thing we followed the strategy of "go when the going is good." The next day winds were 25 knots and gusty, the harbor was too choppy even for a dinghy ride to shore, and we had rain squalls on and off all day. At 10 p.m. the wind picked up even more, 3-foot waves surged inside the anchorage and, with only 9 feet of water under us, we feared our rudder might smack the bottom in the wave troughs. So we raised anchor and motored 2 miles down the harbor to a more sheltered spot for the night. (Of course, as soon as we moved the winds eased off!)
On March 19 we rented a car, along with 2 other cruising couples, and drove 80 miles to the north end of Eleuthera. We viewed narrow Current Cut, a tricky pass we would later sail through, with very strong currents and rock obstructions all around. We visited a few small towns, including unique Governor's Harbour with its steep streets, beautiful homes (many Brits live there), gorgeous gardens and architecture that somehow combines old Key West with New England. The Glass Window was the eeriest sight: a very narrow bridge with the Atlantic Ocean on one side and Exuma Sound (the shallower bank) on the other. The bridge was shifted 12 feet at one end by a massive wave during a hurricane - a wave that had to reach up 120 feet to do its damage! The structure has been "repaired" (more like jury rigged) but does not inspire confidence when crossing its toothpick width by car.
Like many Bahamian Out Islands, Eleuthera has countless sad examples of half-hearted investments that went nowhere, often thanks to hurricane destruction. We saw dozens of shells of cinder-block buildings, a few failed marina developments, abandoned pineapple plantations (once the staple crop here) and an attempted cattle ranch now gone to scrub brush. Follow-through takes both money and grit that are sorely lacking in the Bahamas.
On to the Abacos
On March 24 Mati-J entered the final leg of her 4-month cruise in the Bahamas. We spent 10 days moving gradually northward along the 110-mile length of Eleuthera, and 2 days at uninhabited Royal Island (with its eerie ruins of a grand estate built in the 1930s - hand-painted tiles, vast cement walkways and dozens of buildings in various states of decay). En route to Royal Island on a fairly shallow bank, Berj's trolling paid off: he hauled in a beautiful, 10-pound mutton snapper. That night we happily shared a supper of snapper a la Veracruzana with friends Ann and Ira from Summerwind. There was enough left over for a second dinner of pan-fried snapper.
Two days later we crossed 70 miles of Atlantic Ocean to anchor off narrow Lynyard Cay in the southeastern Abacos, an uneventful and pleasant passage in moderate winds on the beam. On March 27, seeking haven from thunderstorms that approached off the east coast of Florida, we sailed another 28 miles to the sheltered anchorage of Marsh Harbour - largest town in the Abacos, 3rd largest in the Bahamas. A large and busy harbor, it's surrounded by marinas, restaurants, shops and services that are unheard of on the much more isolated island of Eleuthera and the pristine cays of the Exumas.
The shallow Sea of Abaco is renowned for beautiful beaches, sheltered harbors and tricky navigation due to abundant shoals and sandbars. The passages between islands are generally shorter than in the Exumas, but the water, as they say, is mighty skinny.
After weathering, in Marsh Harbour, a cold front with 35-knot winds that lasted for 2 days, the Mati-J crew finally went ahsore to sample the many stores. The harbor has good protection, holds anchors well, and is a favored stop (or even base) for many cruisers, but despite the town's amenities, it's not especially alluring or picturesque.
Far more charming is Hope Town, some 5 miles across the Sea of Abaco, with its candy-striped lighthouse, narrow streets lined with brilliant tropical foliage, and lovely, tiny harbor. Because its approach is too shallow for Mati-J's 6-foot, 6-inch draft, we took the ferry over for a day. We enjoyed fresh crawfish salad at Capt. Jack's overlooking the harbor, and learned that the famous lighthouse was sabotaged many times in early years by residents who feared it would interfere with their lucrative trade salvaging wrecks from the reef.
Next stop was Great Guana Cay, where we anchored in Fishers' Bay and walked around the small, prosperous-looking town where pedestrians share the lone cement path with golf carts (the main transportation mode). Near the northern tip of the island are the ruins of a vast cruise- ship playground, abandoned now for a decade. Constructed of heavy timbers and thatch with a "castaway's island" theme, Disney's former property still covers several acres packed with tiki-style bars, a huge restaurant, open-air 500-seat amphitheater, sports arenas and storage trailers, all joined by cement pathways overhung with coconut palms and bougainvillea. Millions of dollars and much work went into this deserted oasis, which has been thoroughly trashed over the years.
After snoreklling and beachcombing under the powerful sun, we traversed notorious Whale Cay Passage on a calm afternoon. A dogleg out into the Atlantic, this passage intersects the edge of the Great Bahama Bank, where huge amounts of water flow onto and off the shallows. Even on days of fair weather and light winds, as when we crossed, a large but nearly invisible swell can roll boats onto their beam ends with no warning. In higher winds, or when storms stir up distant Atlantic waters, this passage often proves deadly. We made it through with only a few items jumping to the floor belowdecks.
Green Turtle Cay, our next stop, is home to the quaint town of New Providence, settled by British Loyalists after the American Revolution. It has a unique tropical/New England look with low, rolling hills overlooking the broad harbor. We hoped to explore for a few days, but even after 3 attempts our anchor didn't like the terrain. So after a quick lunch at the Green Turtle Club, we hoisted our tackle and sailed a few miles north to Manjack Cay, which our CQR anchor liked just fine.
Florida or bust
There are many cays, islands and anchorages to explore in the Exumas, even for a deep-draft boat like Mati-J, but the pickings get slimmer the farther north and west one moves, and shelter from north or west winds is scarce. Weather forecasts calling for another strong cold front on April 9 persuaded us to speed up our departure. So on April 7 we motor-sailed for 12 hours to cover the 75 miles across the Great Bahama Bank to tiny Mangrove Cay - a spot of shelter in the middle of nowhere. We "buddy-boated" (kept in touch via VHF radio, sharing travel plans and forecasts) with a pair of trawlers also looking to return to Florida. Arriving at Mangrove Cay just at sunset, we 3 boats were soon joined by a fast powerboat whose skipper inquired about the 2 restaurants supposedly on the island! Wrong Mangrove Cay, buddy; nothing way out there but brush and mosquitoes.
Berj and Janet awoke at 3:30 a.m. on April 8 and set out westward in the dark (thank heavens for the GPS), reaching the edge of the bank at daybreak. The 2 trawlers were unimpressed with the forecast of 10 to 15-knot winds and 4 to 6-foot seas in the Gulf Stream (a powerful, 25-mile-wide current that flows northward at 3 knots or more), so they opted to stay behind and hole up somewhere until after the frontal passage. Good decision: the weather was a textbook reflection of the forecast. Six-foot waves are quite manageable in a sailboat, but misery for a trawler, especially when on the beam (side) of the boat. Steering with our tiller was relentless and rather tiring, but all went well. Fifteen hours after setting out, we anchored in Lake Worth, near West Palm Beach, Florida, and settled in for a restorative, 11-hour sleep.
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