Our exit strategy, then, is to raise our anchor just after dawn and slip into the line of sailboats and sport fishermen leaving Lake Worth to go on their various ways. The man-made channel at Lake Worth is narrow, long, and well-trafficked. The day is cloudy and gray with scattered squalls forecast. We slide in gracefully behind a 35 foot sailboat named 'Maestro' to join the outgoing parade. The fishing boats pull ahead by burning copious amounts of fossil fuels while ‘Maestro’ soldiers on at around 5 knots. Right about our speed. We are on the way!
Bill asks if I can identify a small boat in the distance as we are about half way through the channel. Yep, a pilot boat, clearly marked. This can only mean one thing: a big ship is being led in from the ocean as we are on our way out to the ocean. And there she is, just now visible around the buildings at the channel entrance. We have learned that it is best to stay as far away from these behemoths as possible. Always. That being said, halfway through a narrow, two-way channel is no time to change course. We opt to stay behind 'Maestro' for the duration. 'Maestro' however suddenly changes her course to port as if to cross in front of the giant ship! Is she nuts? There is clearly not enough time or open water for the sailboat to cross the channel safely. Then we hear it. Five short blasts of the horn from the huge freighter. Five shorts means "There is imminent danger of collision! What the #!~?!*## are you doing?"
Finally the captain of 'Maestro' gets the picture and swerves in behind us to avoid the snarly ocean giant. There is a woman at the wheel and she looks pale. If I attempted a move like that while at the helm of Let's Dance, I would spend some serious time in the brig reviewing Chapman Piloting, Seamanship and Small Boat Handling, Section 3: The Art of Seamanship, Chapter 7: Rules of the Road -- contemplating my error in judgment. So, before 0800 hours we have had our excitement for the day - we hope.
As the morning progresses, our voyage towards the Great Bahama Bank is slowed by winds from the northeast encountering Gulf Stream propulsion from the southwest. When added to the 4 foot waves attacking us from the portside bow, it gets a little ugly. Our speed drops hourly....from our standard 6 knots to 4 1/2 to only 3! People on foot could walk to the Bahamas faster!! (Well, except for the water thing.) Perhaps we should re-think the route so we can arrive before spring. We do. By altering our heading slightly we are able to use the force of the Gulf Stream more effectively, overtake all pedestrians and arrive at our destination in time for dinner. A romantic, fashionably late, dinner by moonlight in our solitary anchorage off Great Isaac Rock.
At 0730 on day two of the eastward passage, Bill raises the anchor remotely by himself while I wake up over of bowl of Cheerios in the saloon. We have an uneventful day with calm seas and speeds averaging 6 1/2 to 7 knots (now we're upping our game!!) Along the way I see a notation on the chart: "Lark's Two Fathom Bridge." There is nothing here except clear, teal-tinged water with occasional chunks of reef and coral....twelve feet deep. Hmmmm. (Apparently my friend Lark has taken back her bridge!) Our plan is to spend another quiet night anchored at the shallow edge of the Northwest Channel, then make a quick run across the Tongue of the Ocean to Andros Island in the morning where we will celebrate our 32nd anniversary by clearing Bahamian customs!
And so, that is just what we do. By 1030 hours on day three, we have (finally) successfully set our anchor (third time's a charm) in the shallows of the tiny, round harbor at Morgan's Bluff on the northern tip of Andros. This anchorage offers poor holding because the bottom is mostly rock...hard layers brushed free of both sand and vegetation by decades of wind and currents. The harbor is bowl shaped, with a crumbling concrete wall along one side where the water barge comes weekly to fill its tanks for delivery to thirsty outer islands. Wrecked boats litter the remaining ragged shoreline. It is not a scenic spot.
We plop the Love Me Tender gently over the side of our ship so the Captain can go ashore to clear customs. We cannot locate our bright yellow "Quarantine" flag which should be flown until we clear customs. Oh, well. Bill gathers our documents -- passports, vessel registration, etc. -- to take ashore with him. As he starts the dinghy engine, I jokingly ask, "Do you have a paddle?" Luckily he does, as the little engine sputters and dies not far from the mother ship. Still, there is a bit of current, and getting back is tough. I see the predicament from the saloon and pull out a light, nylon tow rope to throw to Bill. (It should be noted here that I throw like a girl.) Three being our lucky number today, that's how many tosses it takes for me to get the line within range of the dinghy for the current to float it to Bill. He then easily pulls himself and the recalcitrant Love Me Tender in to the stern of Let's Dance.
Now what to do? We cannot clear customs if we can't get ashore and we can't get ashore without the Love Me Tender. We need to find a marina where we can pull in to get the tender's engine repaired. It would also be pretty perfect if this marina had a Custom's agent nearby and walkable access to a telephone company office. Bill scours the charts and decides that the Berry Islands are just the ticket. The small swath of cays that make up the Berrys lies about 75 miles north of us, too far to go this afternoon, so we decide to retrace our route and spend another romantic evening anchored on the blue Bahama bank. Life is so hard!
We will begin our 33rd year of togetherness, well, together! Tucked in under a crescent moon and plentiful stars, softly rocked by lapping waves, safely anchored in shallow seas, very happily together.
Let's Dance.......Carol & Bill
