Our winter retreat has now spanned 79 days and the Captain and I thought it would be interesting to review how we’ve divided our time. On seven nights, we stationed ourselves on mooring balls in two different island chains. Thirteen nights we’ve actually paid to overnight at marinas. That leaves a whopping 59 nights at anchor, or, as old salts say, nights “on the hook.”
The Land and Sea Park in the Exumas was formed to help protect the marine life and pristine reefs of the area, so naturally they prohibit dropping large metal objects onto the sea floor where coral could be damaged and fish traumatized. Instead, mooring balls are provided on a first come, first served basis for $20 a night. At the park HQ on Warderick Wells, there is a lovely woman with a lilting voice who answers radio calls from boats seeking moorings. She politely asks for the length of the vessel, sail or power and then assigns the appropriate ball for pickup until all are taken. At other locations in the park, guest “hosts” are available to answer questions and collect fees. These volunteers come from all over the world in their boats to spend time in the Exumas helping others with local knowledge and friendship. These were the same hosts we contacted by radio for aid and advice when we ran aground in the park. Rangers came to the rescue, again with our sincere thanks.
Marinas everywhere are little hotbeds of nautical activity and are absolutely unmatched for great people watching. We’ve only visited four different marinas this trip, and each was unique. In Nassau, we docked at a fairly nice marina that shared a common waterway with a commercial pier. Here the men who worked the boats lived on the boats. There must not have been much work available, however, as most vessels never left the dock. The men drank a lot of beer, smoked a lot of cigarettes and played loud music. The good news was that most of the boats looked rusty enough to sink if they had gone out, so staying in was a good idea. Our next marinas were on Man O War Cay and Green Turtle, and you already know those tales.
That leaves Spanish Cay Marina. We decided to go into this quiet harbor because the weather was due to turn and come from the northeast and we wanted some protection. Forecasts called for the possibility of 50 knot wind gusts, and, sturdy as Let’s Dance is, why be uncomfortable? The island once belonged to Clint Murchison of oil fame, and there are still remnants of a heyday there, including an old airstrip on one end of the cay. A sign very clearly states that no driving is allowed on the runway. Period. OK, then, we won’t take the golf cart we rented down that path. A good thing, too, as several single engine planes came and went over the next two days. That afternoon, ahead of the pending storm, we walked from the southern shore of Spanish Cay across the sandy flats to Goat Cay at low tide. There were some interesting shells, but nothing to compare with earlier finds farther north in the Abacos. The first night at the marina was calm and we met a brave young couple with three youngsters on a bareboat sailing charter. They were delightful and we learned that he owns Westbank Anglers in Jackson Hole ---- hmmmm, maybe we could visit them someday for a little fly fishing?
The next morning came in stormier, and by midday the skies were getting ugly and the wind beginning to gust. Captain Bill had secured us the night before, but added a few more lines, just in case. Let’s Dance looked a bit like a trussed turkey, but there was no way we could be jostled by this storm! There were about ten boats (mostly sail) in the marina, which was partially protected by a stone seawall on the western side. Let’s Dance was in a slip just three spaces in from the end, bow in to the dock. Now comes the exciting part…..a large trawler, a Grand Banks 49, radios in for a slip, and in they come. Just at the moment they pass the seawall and head to the slip next to us, the sky opens up, rains pelt down and the sea turns dark grey and angry.
Huge swells are pushing them into the dock faster than they should be coming in and it’s too late to stop their forward momentum. Helpful hands come from other boats and soon there are about ten men on the dock reaching for lines to secure the trawler. The wife is at the helm on the fly bridge and is getting directions from most of the ten helpers. Starboard thrust! Reverse idle! Go forward! Thrust to port! Stop! (That poor woman!) Her husband is on the bow, trying to get lines to the waiting men. Swells are still pushing the boat forward and Bill and some others are manning lines from her stern to keep her from ramming the dock.
Meanwhile, our anemometer reads gusts to 40 knots and the wind is pushing the trawler sideways. Luckily for Let’s Dance there was a pier between us and the unfortunate vessel, but a piling on her starboard pierced her swim platform and the teak was shredded. Finally, the vessel was secured to the dock, the helpers left to tell their tales and the couple on board were, if not the day’s “entertainment”, at least the day’s diversion.
On a lighter note, there’s the tale of the skipper. The morning of the storm, a very large yacht, which had been docked on the T end of the dock a few slips down from us, began to pull in their lines and fenders to depart. The crew of two, in matching uniforms, readied the ship as a woman in work out clothes skipped rope on the bow. OK. Exercise is good. The ship begins to back up, but winds and current push it toward the pilings on the dock. No doubt fearing ugly scars down the side of the boat from rubbing against the pilings (the fenders are already stowed) the crew grab floor mats to place between the hull and the pilings as the yacht continues to back up. They rush from piling to piling, frenzied to save the elegant navy finish on the hull. As they finally clear the dock, the crew droop against the companionway while the woman continues, uninterrupted, to skip rope. When last seen, the beautiful blue yacht, large, long scratches on her port side, motored west --- exercise class still in session for the party of one.
We like to anchor out. It’s pretty easy to see why now, don’t you think?
Only a few days remain on this winter’s Bahamian voyage for Let’s Dance, the Love Me Tender et al. We will be joined by Leslye and David, my brother and his wife, for a few days to test their sea legs, then it’s back across the Gulf Stream to Florida and points north. Time for a few more nights on the hook where the only drama we encounter will be that which we make….maybe it will be a musical!
Let’s Dance…..Carol & Bill
