The Long Haul

It has been almost six months since our last offshore cruise aboard Let's Dance, so it seemed like a good idea to study up on a few rudimentary principles before setting out to sea again.   There are so many things to remember.  Port - left; starboard - right.  Abaft, abeam, adrift, amidships, azimuth circle.  Azimuth circle?   Hmmmm.  And that's just the A's.  Let's review.

First, plan, plan, plan.  Then check the weather forecast a few hundred times.  Next, provision for three times the expected length of the voyage.  Just in case.  Captain Bill, in his Chief Engineer capacity, replaced filters, changed oil, un-pickled the water maker (don't ask), re-stocked fuel additives and otherwise readied our little ship for the sea cruise.  Even the finicky 25 hp Yamaha engine on the Love Me Tender was tested and deemed seaworthy.  We are also now in possession of a handy 100-pack of assorted electrical fuses to avoid a repeat of last spring's unfortunate fuse fiasco.  Enough review -- we are old salts (quite literally) and prepared for any and all adventures.

We set off from our Charleston marina slip at slack tide on late Wednesday afternoon.  First stop: the fuel dock!  (These guys love to see us coming.)  Bill sensed us listing to the right, so we added 350 gallons of pale pink diesel to the starboard tank but only 250 gallons to the port side.  A gallon of diesel weighs about 7.5 lbs., so we added over two tons of ballast at this stop.  Nicely balanced, we head out to the edge of Charleston Harbor and drop anchor for the night.  Wind and current in opposition create a side to side rocking that is reminiscent of the crazy Watch Hill effect.  Luckily for us, the winds calm after midnight and we sleep well.

Now the real voyage begins.  We are up with the sun and have raised the anchor and set our course for the center of the channel by 0700 hours.  We follow the NOAA ship "Thomas Jefferson" and a catamaran named "Muse" out through the long, rock-lined breakwater that leads from Charleston Harbor to the open Atlantic.  Luckily there are no incoming cargo or container ships to hog the channel so we don't have to flex our maritime muscle before breakfast.

The day is clear, but the effects of an earlier storm keep the seas a bit lumpy, and we chart 3 to 4 foot chop all day long.  Not bouncy enough to require clinging to rails, but bouncy enough to encourage sitting.  A nice day for a cruise.  As evening approaches the Captain and I discuss the watch schedule. We decide that, since I am more of a night person,  I will take the 8 to midnight shift.  A light dinner with the evening news and the Captain goes on break.

And so my watch begins.  Our heading is 194 degrees and our course will take us about 60 miles offshore before the night is over.  The moon has just passed its peak fullness and it rises slowly through a spooky mist of layered clouds on the eastern horizon.  The reflected shimmer of its glow off the ocean is spectacular.  The interior of Let's Dance is in full 'night mode.'  No lights are on except the red courtesy lights in the passageways.  The radar screens in the pilothouse are set at 6 and 12 mile ranges, respectively.  The computer screen with our pre-planned route is dimmed as well.  Only four hours.  I can do this!

Being alone in the pilot house at night creates a strange dichotomy between serenity and uncertainty for me.  It is a breezy night and the doors are open to the salty air.  The splash of water slapping below is soothing, almost hypnotic, as it dances off the hull.  A few stars and the amber harvest moon shed a cone of light on the ocean surface.  The steady sweep of the radar images lulls me and all is well with my world at sea.  But, at the same time, the lack of visibility and complete reliance on technology run counter to my desire for control.  Sure, the radar will reveal any ships that wander into our path....won't it?  That, and hey, it's really dark out there!

Finally, eight bells and my first watch is over.  Captain Bill takes the helm.  (He has been sleeping right behind me on the settee in the pilothouse during my entire watch...just in case.)  We are too far offshore to have an internet connection so he is forced to entertain himself playing video solitaire and reading the newest Jack Reacher adventure.  And, naturally, constantly scanning the radar screens for early warning signs of traffic.  I retire to the salon with my pillow and slip immediately into peaceful mermaid dreams.

All too quickly his four hours give way again to my next four hours and the cycle begins again.  The seas are broody and have strengthened while I was dozing, so the 0400 to 0800 watch is a little rougher ride.  Once again, Captain Bill is right at hand should a calamity arise.  Luckily, the only radar sighting for me is a 735 foot long cargo ship named Hammonia and she stays a very satisfactory 9 miles to the west of us.  Smart ship!

This is the long-haul trucking of boating.  We will trade watches for as long as it takes to get to West Palm Beach.  We are now 24 hours in and still in good spirits.  (I think Bill is secretly impressed that I am not whining or sulking.)  The hours roll by -- Bill switches the fuel intake valve from starboard to port and back every six hours to maintain an even keel; on the even hours I record our lat and lon along with our course over ground, speed, the wave height and barometric pressure; odd hours Bill checks the engine room for leaks, notes rpms and load, fuel usage, drive shaft drip and temperature.  Pretty exciting stuff, right?

When we're not logging data we read, eat, sleep or watch TV.  We may be out of internet range,  but we are not without entertainment.  Satellite TV connects us to the world.  We also have a satellite phone for those important ship-to-shore calls.  And music.....always music. 

At 1130 hours on day two of the cruise we are joined by a dolphin troop who race ahead and to the sides to jump our wake.  Their act is followed by a fleet of flying fish skipping over the foamy waves.  Little guys leaping for their lives in an effort to escape undersea predators.  A lone gull sees a dining opportunity as well and circles the school.  He leaves hungry, though.  A loggerhead sighting right now would produce the perfect offshore trifecta!   Wow, this is fun!  It's like an aquarium out here.  No, wait.  It is an aquarium out here. 

We maintain our southerly course, passing perilously close to the Naval Submarine Base at Kings Bay just north of the Georgia/Florida line.  It is the home port of the fleet of ballistic missile nuclear subs armed with Trident nuclear weapons.  Yikes!  Nothing shows up on the radar screens, but these guys could be doing laps underneath us and we would never know.  Best to move on out of their territory.  We power on at a smart 6.6 knots.   Good work, Let's Dance!

Another night, another dawn.  Another day on the high seas.  Once again the Captain relieves me at midnight, but by 0400 I am still drowsy, so I ask for a little more time.  And then a little more time.  It turns out that one night in a row is all I can actually manage on the four to eight shift.   Bill pulls a 7 hour watch and encounters all sorts of excitement as I snooze away the hours in the salon. 

A duet of cruise ships and an errant fishing boat keep Bill alert during the night and early dawn hours.  Carnival and Disney ships return their guests from the Bahamas to Port Canaveral in the pre-dawn light.  No problem with them -- they are so lit up you can see them almost 12 miles away on a clear night.  Our longest radar has a 24 mile range.   They can't sneak up on us!  The fishing boat, however, was another matter.  As Bill watched, first only on the night radar screens, then with his own eyes, the well-lit work boat closed in on Let's Dance.  Bill zigged, they zagged.  Again.  And again.  Finally, Bill stopped Let's Dance entirely and they crossed a mere 300 yards in front of us.  Radio calls yielded no response.  Hey you!  Careful out there!  I slept through it all.

And so day three begins.  Forty-eight hours in and, as they say on Wall Street, we are "too long to be wrong."  During breakfast, the Coast Guard breaks in on the radio with a warning for all mariners.  They announce a satellite launch from Cape Canavarel at 1150 hours.  This morning!  The Atlas V rocket is going up.  And the Coast Guard suggests, no, actually, demands, that all boaters vacate the area.   Pronto!  We're going as fast as we can, guys.  For us, 7 knots is very close to our personal best for speed.

The seas have settled nicely as the cruise continues and by mid-day Saturday, half way down the coast of Florida, the ride is downright superb.  Blue skies, flat seas, light winds.  It doesn't get any better than this.  We have consumed a fraction of the food we brought aboard, read most of the books and shared a lot of quality time together.  We have made good time, avoided  the north-flowing Gulf Stream by moving closer to shore and are preparing to bring this odyssey to a close.  We will tuck in at Palm Beach Inlet and spend the night at the edge of the marine traffic lanes there before tackling the last few miles to the marina in the morning.

The inlet is in sight, but we have to do a few donuts offshore to allow a cruise ship to exit the narrow channel before making our way in.  We are polite that way......that, and they are a lot bigger than us.  A trio of dolphins leaps completely out of the water to celebrate our arrival and are silhouetted in the late afternoon sun.  Thank you!

Sixty hours underway!  Four hundred and fifty-two statute (that would be three hundred and eighty-three nautical) miles, an average of 6.383 knots per hour, no mechanical issues, no personnel issues.  Independent thinking by the crew is not encouraged and I have behaved admirably under Captain Bill's excellent command.  He said so.  Let's Dance is now snugly afloat in slip 28, Old Port Cove Marina, clean as a whistle and awaiting her next adventure. 

Happy holidays from Let's Dance........Carol & Bill

Sea Trials

There have been more than a few sea trials in our ocean-going, five year history with the good ship Let's Dance.  Weather incidents, mechanical  mishaps, computer snafus, and even the occasional personal gaffe.  To date, however, none of these trials has resulted in a plank walk.  There have been moments, though, when limits, and tempers, were stretched taut.

A sea trial usually has nothing to do with justice on the high seas, and everything to do with mechanical viability.  It consists of a series of tests and checks of marine systems to make certain that all elements are in excellent working order under normal sea conditions.  Let's Dance recently underwent a sea trial so her newly refurbished hydraulic thrusters, as well as her often irritable stabilizers, could be pronounced seaworthy.  Seasoned professionals put her through her marine paces and all systems were rated GO!  She passed with colors flying!

So, it was with more than a bit of chagrin that Captain Bill sensed a little sluggishness in her gait about two hours into our most recent voyage from West Palm Beach home to Charleston.  Our fuel usage registered an alarming 3.8 gallons per hour and the load on the faithful old Lugger engine registered over 55%!  Now, this may not sound like a problem to you, but our chief engineer (that would be Bill) thought it might indicate a rather severe case of fuel starvation.  Oh!  Prudently, we turn our bow and head back towards the south Florida coast.

We opt to drop the hook at the edge of the big turning basin just inside the Lake Worth jetties rather than returning to the marina to diagnose the problem.  Clogged filters might cause fuel starvation.  So, once securely anchored, Bill dons his mechanic's hat and descends into the engine room to change the fuel and the Racor filters.  Hot work!

With squeaky clean filters newly in place, we motor back out into the Atlantic.  Another sea trial.  Sadly, the load is still too high for comfort, the WOT, or "wide open throttle", test yields only 6.7 knots: a poor performance, indeed.  So, we slog back through the inlet to further ponder the situation. You can see from the hot pink tracks on the computer screen that we have made this particular passage many times in the past.

Another possible cause for the overworked engine occurs to us......well, really just to Bill.  There could be some foreign object wrapped around the prop, causing the little Lugger engine to try too hard.  We anchor again and Bill prepares to go in for a look under the hull.  With mask, snorkel and metal scraping tool, he hops off the swim ladder at the stern into water that is both cloudy and swift.  He is back up almost immediately asking for his fins.  The tide is ebbing, and the current in the turning basin is running at about three knots.  That is fast and I decide to toss a floating dock line into the flow......perhaps Bill can grab it and tow himself back to the boat if the current gets too strong for him to fight, even wearing his trusty fins.

Luckily, he is a strong paddler and does not need the line to hold his place below the hull.  He comes up with the news that the prop is clear of obstructions, but that it, and all of the underwater metal running gear, is densely barnacle-encrusted.  Off-white, nickel-sized critters have been colonizing below the waterline since the hull was last scrubbed clean only a month ago.  Yikes, they spread quickly!  And they are stubborn, crusty and sharp!  Bill is able to scrape them from the propeller and drive shaft, but incurs some bloody scratches of his own in the process.

We run another sea trial, following a towering cruise liner, the "Bahama Grand Celebration", with her partying passengers, out through the jetties.  Again.  Yes!  This is good!  The WOT test now yields a top rpm of 2350 and Let's Dance is back in fighting form once again.  Great work, Captain Bill, and sharp diagnostic skills!  By now, however, it is almost 1600 hours and too late to start north today, so we re-trace our old tracks and anchor near the turning basin once again.  We will start fresh tomorrow morning.  For now, though, we have a front sear for the local marine scene.....pilot boats, police boats, cruise ships and container ships all out doing their thing in the late Florida afternoon.

On Day Two of the voyage, we raise the anchor in our usual, competent manner.....Bill on the bow doing the dirty work, and me in the pilot house finessing the controls while sipping hot coffee.  What a team!  We are off by 0800 hours, happy that the trials of yesterday are over and ready for whatever this day will bring.  About eight miles off Juno Beach, the captain spots a whale.....wow!  An hour later we are favored with a two-dolphin escort for a few miles and then, Bill spies a lone loggerhead turtle peeking over the waves at us as we motor slowly by.  Quite a fabulous morning with nature!

The remainder of the day is uneventful and we reach the entrance channel to Ft. Pierce harbor, some 55 miles up the coast from West Palm Beach, by 1530.  We arrive just in time to watch the out-rushing current stymie all but the fastest boats attempting to enter the harbor through the narrow, rock-lined  passageway.  We follow the progress of a catamaran under power and a cruiser with our binoculars as they fight the waves and cede almost all forward progress to the swift out-flowing current.  We smartly decide to bob around in a wide circle until the conditions are more favorable for us.  Finally, it's our time and we motor past the mighty "Newport" dredge who has been at the channel entrance working all afternoon.  She is deepening the channel.....sucking up the loose floor of the inlet and spewing the wet sand hundreds of feet down the beach.

The water route from south Florida to South Carolina is not as direct as the I-95 route.  (Neither is it paved, patrolled or dotted with fast food outlets..... but that, of course, is its charm!)  It is a 365 mile journey by land, or about 400 by sea, that can be divided up in a variety of fashions.  You can, with favorable seas and winds, accomplish the entire journey in one 55 hour nautical marathon via the open Atlantic; you can slog up the Intracoastal Waterway for endless, mindless hours; you can overnight at the occasional scenic anchorage; or you can combine all three....which we do!  So, on Day Three of the event, we opt to head far out into the blue-blue Atlantic.  The next possible anchorage lies a mere 230 miles to the north. At an average of six knots an hour....well, you do the math.

Day Three dawns clear and we leave the shallow peace of our Ft. Pierce anchorage at 0645.  Bright-eyed; anticipating a great day at sea.  And, the offshore waters are as calm as an ocean can be.  Our very favorite kind of day.  We take turns at the helm throughout the day, pacing ourselves for the overnighter ahead.  I am at the wheel as daylight fades -- the ocean taking on a silvery shimmer as a crescent moon flares red on the horizon.  It is breathtaking.

With full darkness comes the reality that Bill has gone below to his berth and I am alone in the pilothouse!  It is an awesome responsibility, and one that I assiduously try to avoid.  There is no help for it on this voyage, however, and I did volunteer.  (What was I thinking?) The Captain has to sleep sometime, though!  Taking stock of my surroundings, I count no less than 14 lighted dials, monitors, screens and gauges on the dash in the pilot house.  It is a dazzling display of electronic redundancy!   We have on our running lights, naturally, but the darkness surrounding Let's Dance is profound, and a little scary -- the continual sweep of the radar hands provide the only clues to the world outside the trawler.  And it is a big ocean, my friends.

Bill takes the watch around midnight and is able to stay awake, if not totally alert, until I stumble back up at around 0500.  (Thanks for letting me sleep in, Captain!)  The quiet night is followed by a calm day and before we know it we have traveled for 35 straight hours and 232 nautical miles.  The only hitch was a midday cabin invasion by a squadron of nasty, biting flies about 15 miles off the coast of Brunswick, Georgia.  Hmmmm.  Anyway, with slightly blurry eyes and fuzzy heads, we pull into an anchorage between Jekyll and St. Simons islands at the end of day four of the cruise.  The beaches here are idyllic, we note, and almost deserted.

Now it is Friday, Day Five, and we are back at sea.  Only 140 miles left to the entrance of Charleston Harbor!  One last, multi-watch run and we are home!  Wave heights increase throughout the morning.  By the time my watch begins at noon, sitting in the big captain's chair feels like riding the mechanical bull at Gilley's in 70's Houston.  Six footers roll through about every five seconds.  This is less fun than you might think.  We buck along on a northeasterly course, cleverly side-stepping the 696 foot cargo ship "Grande Sierra Leone" as she emerges from the Tybee Roads shipping lanes from Savannah into the great Atlantic.

The Captain and I continue to trade watches throughout the day, slipping into occasional patches of rocky sleep.  My last watch covers the time from 0400 onward, and the blackness of the night is intense.  As the dawn brings a dim glow to the horizon it is possible to see the bow of the boat for the first time in hours.  It feels like spending the night in a submarine; then rising slowly to the surface; bringing the world into a lazy, watery focus.  The morning of Day Six now, and both Bill and I are a little muzzy, but Charleston is only a few hours away and the final push is on.

It is Saturday morning, Memorial Day weekend, and the crew of Let's Dance is ready for shore leave.  Six-days ready.  The buoys marking the long channel into historic Charleston Harbor are in sight; a massive cargo ship (possibly loaded with locally made BMWs) pushes tons of water in front of her as she exits the channel; a hazy sun reflects off the aluminum outriggers on sport fishing boats speeding to catch that first fish of the day; and, our heretofore trusty Lugger engine dies.  No sputter, no cough, no warning.  Just quits.

Silence at sea.  We are stunned for a moment, then the Captain rallies.  All hands on deck!  Stabilizers off!  Generator off!  Weigh the anchor!  We are dead in the water, but at least we are not adrift.  Whew.......now I can relax.  Bill, of course, has been calmly controlled the whole time:  very handy trait in the guy in charge.  So we sit and ponder our options as we bob quietly by green can 23.

Bill lobs in a call to James, the master mechanic in Florida (remember the sea trials of just a few days ago?  Hmmmmm.)  They discuss different scenarios and decide that a blown fuse is the most likely culprit.  A fuse?  Really?  Both Bill and I search the stark white engine room looking for the little traitor to no avail.  Okay, Plan B:  We have a wing engine, after all: also referred to as the "get home engine."  Now we know why.  She will see us safely through the channel and into Charleston harbor.  Of course!  The only catch is that her top speed is about three knots, and as we have previously established, you can pretty much walk faster than that.

Undeterred, the Captain waits for the perfect opening -- we don't want to meet a giant tanker half way through the gauntlet with reduced power -- and we head in.  We make it safely through the channel, passing Ft. Sumter with all her tourists and gaily flying flags, to a familiar anchorage just off the James Island Yacht Club docks.  The view of downtown Charleston is stunning in the morning light.  We anchor.  We reconnoiter, reassess, revise.  Bill decides to brave the holiday revelers whose boats zip madly around the harbor and make for the security of the marina.  Slowly.  The slip they offer us would be an easy fit with all systems go, but with our limited maneuverability we opt to back off and re-think the situation.   We re-anchor.   We rest overnight.

Cut to Day Seven of the sea cruise......Charleston Harbor.....home is so close and yet so far!  After sleeping on it, the Captain has come to the difficult decision to call in Tow Boat U.S. for help.  This is a bit of a blow, but it can't be helped.  Safety first!  So, at 0755 on Sunday morning we meet our new best friend, Drew, and his Georgia-red tow boat.

Bill and Drew confer and decide that a blown fuse probably is to blame for our plight, and together they locate the little trouble-maker.  But it is Sunday morning.  What to do?  Drew calls in a favor from a friend who opens a marina store and gives him a choice of small, marine fuses to try.   Drew is back in a flash.  Bill installs a little red fuse and, bingo!  The crippled Lugger engine starts right back up!  It's a miracle!

Under her own power, Let's Dance moves smartly through the congested harbor towards the marina.  To be safe, and because we have already paid for the tow, Drew follows us until we reach the edge of the docks.  Here, as we idle, he lashes his rescue boat to our starboard side with so many lines you would think he expected a mutiny.  Lights flashing, the little tow boat nudges us gently into our slip at the marina on the Ashley River.  Home at last!

Finally.  It is 0945 on Day Seven of the voyage.  The sea trial has resulted in a unanimous verdict!  We are happy to be ashore!  Let's Dance, the Love Me Tender and her crew are all safe, secure, a little bit sleepy, and at home in Charleston.  The summer will bring other adventures, whether on land or sea, and maybe even some trials, but for now, we are back in the Holy City.  Sipping sweet tea and walking on the shady side of the street.

Let's Dance........Carol and Bill

Company's Coming!!

We always look forward to welcoming friends aboard Let's Dance, and so it is with great enthusiasm that we set off early one morning from our Little Farmer's Cay anchorage to head south to Great Exuma Island.  The Ledbetters will arrive soon!  Traveling between islands usually entails motoring a few miles in calm, shallow water from one sheltered anchorage to the next.  Very safe.  Very predictable.  To get to Great Exuma though, you have to navigate a narrow cut into the Atlantic and travel for about 25 miles offshore before nipping back in at the northern tip of Stocking Island.  It always looks so easy on the charts!

With typical optimism (and a thorough review of wind, weather, tides and seas) Captain Bill steers us towards the cut.  The islands act as a long, skinny barrier reef -- protecting the inner, or lee, sides of the cays by taking the brunt of the ocean's force on the windward rocky shores.  Breaks in the chain allow the wild ocean waters into the calmer bays creating (guess what?) a rage!  We've experienced this phenomenon before, of course.  A rage can cause an unpleasant boating experience.  But we are sturdy, hale, experienced and too long to be wrong, as they say.

The cabin is well secured, as always before anchoring up, and so there is not much to do except sit down, hold on and enjoy the ride.  Let's Dance responds well under Bill's direction and we buck and dive predictably into the oncoming waves.  They couldn't be more that 6 feet, and yet, from my perch in the pilothouse it seems that our bow dips dangerously low into the troughs and then soars almost skyward -- repeatedly.  Muffled banging and the clinking of bottles in the fridge comes from the galley; the ship's bell chimes; my clenching fingers are the color of sea spray; and then -- with an ominous groan here, a whiny squeak there, we are through the rage at Galliot Cut and into the infinitely calmer Atlantic Ocean.

The remainder of the day cruise south is perfect in every way.  Smooth seas and a tasty onboard lunch (as always after episodes of refrigerator mayhem, I open the door very slowly and am prepared to catch wayward bottles and cans).  Bill even puts out fishing lines in the afternoon.  Our planned route takes us right along the contour lines where the ocean floor drops from tens of feet to hundreds of feet.  Right where the big fishes like to swim!  Alas, no fishes for us today, but the captain never, ever gives up hope.

Yes, a day perfect in every way except one.  The port stabilizer -- you remember the value of functioning fins, right? -- develops a slow oil leak and Bill shuts her down to avoid a worsening situation.  Supposedly, one working stabilizer can provide about 70% of the value of a functioning pair.  We'll find out.  The gently rolling seas and long interval between waves lulls us into a false sense of security.  One fin is plenty!  Who needs fins?

We pull into the long harbor at Georgetown, Great Exuma Island, drop anchor, and prepare for the arrival of our guests.  That consists of a quick dusting of the interiors, a freshwater spray of the exterior and a quick run into town for groceries.  We're ready!  Early the next afternoon Bill captains the Love Me Tender into the dinghy dock in Georgetown.  Harriet and Bureon have been instructed to take a taxi from the airport to the grocery store in town -- the meeting place for all, boaters and locals alike.  I eagerly await their arrival back on Let's Dance!


                                                

We have a full itinerary planned for the Ledbetter's stay, so we get right on it and dinghy in to the Chat 'n Chill for a beer as soon as they have unpacked.  It was freezing when they left Nashville, so a little sun on the face and toes in the sand action is warranted. 

After a simple dinner back aboard our little ship, we all admire the full moon, the lapping of waves against the bow and the fresh, salty air, then say goodnight.  Tomorrow we are off to the races!  The sailboat races back at Little Farmer's Cay.....the annual First Friday in February celebration!

Bureon subs for me as we anchor up the next morning.  He dutifully repeats Captain Bill's commands from the bow as he is urged to "forward idle", "bump it in reverse", "rudder all the way to port", etc.  The weather is clear and light winds are forecast.  Getting back to Little Farmer's with only one working stabilizer should be a piece of cake.  We are underway for about an hour when a routine engine room check reveals that the starboard stabilizer is overheating.  We have to shut it down.  This is not good.  We are finless in the open ocean.

After fiddling with the control panel for the stabilizers, Bill puts in a satellite call to James in Florida and learns that there is no quick fix.  And possibly no fix.  We may have to fly in a mechanic (presumably with parts in hand) to repair the unhappy situation.  The four of us confer, discuss alternatives, consider options and calculate odds.  As Admiral, I make the final decision and we turn back -- there will be no races for us this year.

We anchor again in the great harbor at Georgetown and settle in.  Over the next few days we alternate exploring nearby islands with napping in the shade and find that both are satisfying occupations.

While the rest of us relax and enjoy the good life, Captain Bill studies manuals and monitors and flow charts and figures out a way to possibly eliminate the overheating issue.  We take Let's Dance on a sea trial to try his theory.  Our test course circumnavigates 5 mile long Stocking Island.  With 5 to 7 foot waves at about a 6 second interval, it is rough enough to appreciate the lack of fins.  While I drive, Bill plays with the settings on the stabilizer monitor until he gets it just right!  The starboard fin is back!  It is not overheating!  Hooray for Captain Bill!

Now Let's Dance has one working stabilizer and can again comfortably navigate in moderate seas.  It is too late for much of a voyage with our guests, but we manage a half day offshore fishing trip before their departure.  Harriet and Bureon prove to be such good sports about taking a sea cruise to nowhere that we decide they can come back anytime. 

Let's Dance........Carol & Bill

Educating Let's Dance

A favorite anchorage of ours, and squads of other boaters, is called Big Majors Spot. It is located next to busy Staniel Cay and is more than a 'spot', really; uninhabited except for its world famous drift of friendly pigs. In years past we have taken the Love Me Tender in close to the beach for photo ops and had the chubby little swimmers try to climb aboard! We are smarter this year. We drop anchor at the far end of the bay and watch others entertain the pigs. Then, one bright morning over coffee, a small float plane makes a splash-less landing on the open bay, motors over to the pig beach and idles. While the plane bobs lazily in the shallow surf, two people get out on the pontoons, offer light snacks to the pigs, and then re-board their aircraft. The tiny, silver plane then revs her single engine, glides into the open space between us and the neighboring cruiser, and takes off.....leaving the bewildered pigs on the beach. And I was this close to being able to say "when pigs fly!" 

We spend several days after that in the Big Majors anchorage while a small front passes through, then venture into "town" for a look around. The yacht club has added a snazzy new dining room overlooking the dinghy beach, but everything else looks unchanged. We wander up the road to see what else is new and find that what's new is what's gone. The entire school building is missing. Poof! Gone! We must look into this. 

The next stop south on the chain is Little Farmers Cay -- famous for its annual 4 F or "First Friday in February" Festival -- a wild-ride sailing regatta that courses through crowded anchorages and around exposed rocky points. Last winter, while I was toting in wood for the fireplace in frigid Charleston, Bill was anchored in the middle of the course and enjoyed the show!

Our plan is to return for the festival later in the month, when our guests arrive, but first we have some important business to conduct. Before leaving Charleston, we decided to see if we could do something to help the kids living on Little Farmers Cay. Bill contacted the owner of the Ocean Cabin (a restaurant/bar/hub of local activity on the island) for advice. His name is Terry and he explained a bit about the Bahamian education system to us. There are so many islands, and so few people on each, that not every island even has a school. Many, like Little Farmers, have what they call an "All Ages School." 

This means that children from nursery school through the 6th grade attend the same school, usually in the same room. After age 12, they must travel to live with friends or relatives on one of the few islands that have facilities for higher education -- places like Nassau and Georgetown. (While this sounds less than ideal, the adult literacy rate in the Bahamas is an astounding 95%!) 

So Terry from the Ocean Cabin puts Bill in touch with the island's teacher, Miss Esmae Cox, and she receives our proposal gratefully. How can we help? Well, she's not looking for pencils and rulers! No, she has her sights on computers and disc drives and other high-tech gear! Wow!  

But we can help, and from her list we chose a new projector and packed it securely in our hold before leaving West Palm Beach. (We are also carrying 8 pounds of coffee beans for Terry!) 

With the coffee beans delivered to an ecstatic Terry and his wife Ernestine, we set off on the path up the hill to the school. It was in session and the kids were curious to see a pair of wind- tousled strangers appear at their open door with a big cardboard box. Miss Cox welcomed us warmly and showed us around the one room schoolhouse. Her twelve students ranged in age from 3 to 12; each neatly uniformed and eager to pose with the salty strangers with the mysterious box. There was some serious hugging and hand-holding, too! 

We enjoyed meeting the kids and Miss Cox, and Captain Bill is determined to come back and check on them after I return home -- they will be in good hands! But for now we are off again on the road south. Friends from Daufuskie are joining us in Georgetown in a few days and we don't want to be late! 


Let's Dance.......Carol & Bill 

P.S. In March, Bill returned solo to Staniel Cay and learned that the missing school building had been torn down because it was eaten up by termites. They don't know when or where a new school will be built.

On Little Farmers, Bill and Miss Cox have developed a mutual admiration society and I foresee a quality education for the kids on that island as well as for the crew of Let's Dance.

Boo Boo Hill

Warderick Wells Cay is a welcome annual stop for Let's Dance et al on the winter route.  The cay is home to the headquarters of the Exuma Land & Sea Park and sits pretty far north in the elongated Exuma chain.  To reach Warderick, you sail south past innumerable rocky outcroppings with names like Danger Cay, Tea Table Cay, Cistern Cay (and, naturally, Little Cistern Cay and Little Bitty Cistern Cay.)

We successfully navigate around all these rocks, and more, while admiring the translucent blue waters that surround them.  At most, the seas in this area reach depths of 10 meters; and in many cuts, anchorages and inlets there are less than 2 meters of navigable water.  (Note that 1 meter is a skimpy 39.37 inches.)  We keep a mindful eye on the depth gauge while traveling in these waters, as Let's Dance needs all of 6 feet (or 1.8288 meters, for you math people) of ocean below her keel before she drags the (hopefully) sandy bottom.  This has happened, although not recently, and it is extremely painful for everyone involved, not just the one with the scratchy, sandy bottom.  Believe me.

We contact the Park HQ on VHF Channel 9 and are advised that any open mooring ball in the Emerald Rock field is available to us, so we choose E-4, sidle up, and snatch her.  Anchoring in this area is not permitted to protect the precious coral reefs and their aquatic inhabitants.  Nature is always at risk from man, as evidenced by this sperm whale skeleton near the ranger station.  It is thought that the whale mistook plastic bags for a meal of jellyfish.  Very sad.

Both the captain and I are a little desperate for some land time, and to stretch our legs, so we dinghy ashore and tie up at the HQ dock.  Fortunately, the little Yamaha engine on the Love Me Tender is newly refurbished and ready to rock.  Old Turb on Great Harbor Cay did a fine job on her repairs and our confidence level in her reliability is high again.  Once ashore a brisk walk is just the thing and there are a variety of trails from which to choose.  Today it is the Boo Boo Hill Trail for us!

The trail is short and wanders through white mangrove "nurseries" and over cracked, flat plates of ancient ironstone.  Stepping on one of these broken slabs makes a sound like dropping a metal manhole cover.  Not terribly reassuring to the hiker.  There are several stories of how Boo Boo Hill got its name. One version is that a group of missionaries was shipwrecked off the island's windswept eastern coast in the late 1700s.  They were supposedly buried atop Warderick's highest point by the few British Loyalists who remained in the islands --- most had been run off by mean-spirited pirates.   The souls of the dead allegedly roam the scruffy island, popping out on moonless nights to yell "Boo."  No, I made that last part up.  Anyway, a cairn, or mound of stacked stones, originally marked the burial site, but modern-day seafarers leave more self-promotional memorials.

The view from the hilltop is a 360 degree wonder.  To the west lies the peaceful little harbor of the Land & Sea Park with its fleet of moored boats all facing dutifully into the wind.  The northern end of the island is off limits to hikers as it hosts nesting White-tailed Tropic birds in the spring and summer months.  To the east lies the great Atlantic --- equally impressive in quiet repose or angry turmoil.  And turning south, the low foliage of Warderick Wells gives way to tidal mangrove flats and the distant shoreline of Hall's Pond Cay.

It gets warmer as we near mid-day, so we start down the narrow track that leads back to the park headquarters and the dinghy dock.  A fork in the path provides an intriguing option:  Hutia Highway or Butterfly Trail.  Both tempting, but I opt for a hutia sighting.  We find nothing of the animal kingdom except a few skittish lizards.  I want to see a hutia!  There are none and I am convinced it's a ruse until, back at Park HQ, the ranger says, "Oh, yes!  The little guys are everywhere.  You didn't see one?"  Well, no, I did not.  They are probably related to the elusive capybara that I also did not see in the Amazon.  Here is what I would have seen.....

It is time to finish our little hike and return to the boat for lunch and a siesta. The last hurdle in the Land & Sea Park trail system is the Causeway Bridge.  We do bridges.  Not a problem.  Luckily for us, the tide is low and the water is chilled to just the perfect temperature.

So it's back to the Love Me Tender, back to Let's Dance, back to end another fun day of exploration and adventure in the Bahamas.  And the sunsets aren't too shabby either.

Let's Dance.....Carol & Bill

The Berry Islands

The Berry Islands

The Berry Islands are now the most logical Port of Entry to the Bahamas for Let's Dance and crew. With the Love Me Tender incapacitated, we must dock at a marina to get ashore to clear Customs and Immigration. The Berry Islands lie 55 miles north and east of Andros... our first choice for entry.  Thirty-odd cays make up the small, crescent-shaped island chain. On the lee side, the water is skinny, with exposed sand bores at low tide and not at all a place we want to be. The eastern side of the chain boasts ocean depths of up to a mile within just yards of the coastline. Our chosen route takes us in a wide arc around the western bight, to the northern edge of the Berrys. After about ten hours of travel at our typical 6 knot pace, The Stirrup Cays come into our sights.  Much more obvious than the low, sandy slope of Little Stirrup's shoreline is the distinctive tail of a Carnival Cruise ship! Then the tail of a Norwegian Cruise liner comes into view!   As we sail closer we can see a long, blond stretch of sand,  beach umbrellas, colorful, thatched tiki huts and tourists!  Again, not at all a place we want to be.

 Bill checks our AIS (electronic identification system of boats with all kinds of useful information, including destination) and discovers that the next stop for the Carnival "Fantasy" in our sights is Charleston! I could jump ship here and be home in a flash.....but I think not.  Let's Dance has infinitely more appeal, and besides, I have an in with the captain!  We continue the voyage together.

There are two marinas in the Berrys, but only the one at Great Harbor Cay can service all our needs.....a Customs official, a marine mechanic and a BaTelCo office. This marina is accessed through a long, narrow cut that was blasted through solid rock and is very sheltered from the wind and waves of the Atlantic.  A hearty young Bahamian named "Trumeeko" greets us at the dock and takes the lines I feed him as we snuggle into slip #9.  It is mid-day Friday -- plenty of time to take care of business before the islanders take off for the weekend.  As soon as we are settled into our slip and the electronics are turned off, the shore power connected and fenders in place, Bill hops onto the dock with our packet of immigration necessities and disappears.  He is back quickly with the report that the Customs official is on his way and the advice that we best hoist something yellow -- anything yellow -- in lieu of our missing yellow quarantine flag. Oh, no! The only thing yellow that I can think of is a kitchen dish towel. Hmmm. That will have to do.

 
Luckily, the official called to the marina to deal with us is young, smart and not the least bit interested in our dish towel.  We are soon in possession of a 120-day permit to float through Bahamian seas legally and at our leisure.  Down with the dish towel and up with the colorful courtesy flag.  We are IN!

The next priority is repair of the 25 hp Yamaha engine on the Love Me Tender whose shameful failure at Andros led us here in the first place.  Kimberley, at the marina office, gives Bill the name and number of the best mechanic on the island for small engine repairs.  (He is also the only mechanic on the island.)  She even writes down his name.  Old Turb.  Seriously, Old Turb!

It gets better!  We have stumbled into this off-beat little marina on Wedding Day.  It seems that there was a contest called “Sixteen Islands, Sixteen Couples, Sixteen Weddings.”  Very catchy name!  Once a year, on this particular Friday in January, sixteen contest-winning couples are wed simultaneously on sixteen of the inhabited Bahamas islands.  Note the word “inhabited.”  That leaves approximately 684 islands with no contest-sanctioned weddings today. In case you were interested!
So, the entertainment while we await the arrival of Old Turb becomes anticipating the local wedding.  I position myself on the flybridge with camera, binoculars and a cold drink to wait for the show.  The marina manager has raked the sand adjacent to the dock and wrapped plastic flower garlands around the fish weigh-in station.  It is very festive.  I see the groom arrive and his friends give him high-fives and whistles.  Then a car pulls up and the preacher alights and pulls on his vestments.  We must be getting close!

It is then that I notice a white SUV that has been in the parking lot for quite a while.  A telltale glimpse of white tulle hints of a potential bride-to-be in the back seat.  Meanwhile, Old Turb arrives and he and Bill survey the finicky motor on the aft upper deck of our little trawler.  I am strategically situated between the mechanics on deck and the bridal party on shore – ready for action on any front!  Bill watches with growing concern as Old Turb dismantles the Yamaha engine and lays the parts neatly on the deck.  I provide color commentary to the on-board mechanics as it becomes apparent that the bride in the white SUV is not coming out!  Various people go to the car door and talk to her, but she is apparently having none of it.  This is great theater....at least for one who has been boat-bound for a few weeks.

Old Turb finishes his task before the bride alights and goes on his way.  With no tools or parts, save what Bill could scrounge up from his own tool chest, Old Turb repaired a corroded ground wire to the ignition switch.  The little engine now purrs reassuringly and it looks like the Love Me Tender will regain her place in our good graces.  After a few test drives, of course.  Meanwhile, the bride is finally coaxed from the SUV and poses on the arm of her father under the yardarm.  The entire wedding party then boards a parasail boat and heads gamely out towards the ocean.  A wedding at sea!

Suddenly, I realize that it is after 3 and I still need to get to the telephone company office to buy data time for the internet so we can stay in touch with home.  The office  closes at 4.  The marina manager points out a shortcut through a weed-choked parking lot and I am off for the 15 minute walk.  The road is nicely paved and there is welcome shade along the way.  I soon arrive at the Bahamas Telephone Company's yellow office building, strategically located directly underneath their giant cell tower.  It is about 3:25.  There is a neatly printed sign on the door that reads “Closed”.   Well then.  Guess the weekend started early and we will get to spend some quality time together on Great Harbor Cay in the Berry Islands.

And so we do, and it turns out that the Berry Islands, often overlooked by boaters (and everyone else, apparently), have an interesting history.  Sponging and boat building were the major industries up through the 1920s when a sponge blight ruined the crop and most of the islands' inhabitants moved away to find work.  Meanwhile, an ocean away, a wealthy young American woman was making a name for herself in power boat and motorcycle racing.  Her name was Marion Carstairs, but she preferred to be called “Joe.”  She gained notoriety through her wild parties and Hollywood lovers.  In search of privacy for her increasingly risque lifestyle, she decided to buy an island.  Whale Cay in the Berry Islands seemed just the ticket.  The catch was that she had to buy all of the Berry Islands just to get Whale Cay.  She did.  She bought the entire island chain.  Joe sold off the cays she didn't want and built an elaborate infrastructure on Whale Cay...houses, motorcycle race courses, a landing strip.  Tycoons, movie stars and royalty visited in equal number.  A 1949 hurricane devastated the private retreat, and a disillusioned Joe finally sold Whale Cay in 1975 for $1 million.  An interesting character......

Anyway, by Monday morning, Bill and I are more than ready to complete our errands and resume the voyage. We still need internet time, of course, and decide to add a quick diesel top-off stop, too.  Coincidentally the phone company and the fuel dock are located right next door to each other.  What luck!  The phone company office opens at 9 (or 9:30, depending on your source) so we leave the marina about 8:30.

  At first glance the fuel dock does not look very accommodating.  A sagging, center wooden pier, about 20 feet long, with two sets of pilings on either side.  We drift off the dock for a few minutes deciding if the pilings are set widely enough apart for our 17 foot beam.  We give it a go and Captain Bill backs Let's Dance handily into the rough slip.  Big Hector is there to take our lines and, with my usual agility, I lob the stern line directly into the water.  Embarrassed, I pull the salty line back in and hand it gingerly to a grinning Hector.

While Bill and Hector begin the fueling process, I set off on foot for the phone company, again.  This time, the path is through a weedy field at the rear of the island's power plant.  It is muddy and full of sticker burrs, but direct.

Naturally, the phone company opens at 9:30, so I wander back to the dock to watch the fuel pump gauge click and click and click some more.  350 gallons fill the port side tank making our little ship list slightly towards the dock.  Bill switches the hose to the starboard tank and adds another 350 gallons.  Now we are back on our usual even keel.  This seems like more than a top-off to me, but Hector is a very happy man.  I do believe we have made his day!

Back to the phone company office for the third and possibly final time.  Bill goes with me for tech support; the office is finally open for business and the woman in charge is delighted to sell us as many gigabytes as  we can afford.  We return to Let's Dance, via the power plant side yard, now gorged on  bytes.  We have a nifty little gadget in the pilot house that allows us to capture internet signals from cell towers as far as 15 miles away.  It is called a GlobeSurfer III.  We can reach even further when its mini antenna is placed on a thick metal surface.  (This seems like high-tech voodoo to me, but....)  Surprise!  There are no built-in thick metal surfaces in our bridge.  Necessity being the mother of invention and all, we bought a 12-inch square, cast iron griddle at a kitchen store which now resides just to the right of the magnetic compass on the dash.  We use the flat side, rather than the ribbed, as an antenna base.  Naturally.

And so, only six days after leaving Florida, we are finally outfitted with our Bahamian courtesy flag, an internet card and a finely tuned little Yamaha engine.  The Berry Islands exceeded our expectations and we are ready to move south and enjoy more of the wonderful mysteries that make life aboard Let's Dance a never-ending voyage of discovery.

Let's Dance.......Carol & Bill