Captain Spice

We left Provodenciales (or Provo), the main Caicos island, to explore some of the lesser known bays and bights in the island chain. We bypassed West, North, Middle, and East Caicos to reach our first stop: South Caicos. This isle is home to Cockburn Harbor, a dry, rocky outpost. We tucked into a shallow anchorage in the bay, in the lee of the prevailing ocean easterlies. Limestone cliffs provided protection from the ocean swells and a habitat for sea birds. 

 

A group of white birds with long, graceful, swallow-like tails serenaded us with their chirping as we breakfasted in the saloon the next morning. The birds appeared to have pale green underbellies, the result of the sun reflecting off the aqua waters of the bay and onto their tummies. Pretty! We launched the Love Me Tender and prepared for a day in town. From our anchorage we can see a colorful array of small buildings along the shoreline, ripe for exploration.

So we set out in the LMT across the reef studded bay to find adventure. We are almost immediately approached and circled by a local boat with two occupants. Their vessel is peeling, painted wood, with an open cockpit, and a pretty heavy-duty engine. They come alongside to welcome us and introduce themselves. Captain Spice greets us from the helm of the 'Black Pearl' and introduces his mate in the bow. They offer us lobster, conch or fish! Our choice, and they will go catch it right now for our dining pleasure. We think this guy has a lot of potential. He has the personality, the marketing skills and the snappy patter. All he lacks are buyers. There is only one other pleasure boat in the harbor. We agree to purchase two small lobsters and head on into town.

The Sea View Marina is touted in all the guide books and charts as 'the' place on South Caicos. You can tie up for free! So, right now, empty your mind of any previously held visuals that the word "marina" evokes. Okay? Blank slate? There are no docks in this marina. It is a rectangular concrete pond in which local fishing boats tie up to PVC posts embedded in the four foot high wall to off load their catches of lobster and conch. There are an unfortunate number of boats that are no longer seaworthy and probably haven't been for many years. Their lines float lifelessly in the still water, accumulating algae and barnacles. There is a distinct fishy smell, of course, and sadly, quite a lot of floating trash despite signage to "stow it." We tie up, scramble up the wall and set out for a walk about town.

First stop is small mom and pop variety store where we score a set of dominos for a whopping $15. They are, naturally, made in China and come in their very own nifty blue vinyl carrying case. Next we amble up a small hill to catch an ocean view and are rewarded with a lovely, old fashioned Anglican church. The church was built in 1795 and is still active. The rector came by while we were admiring the altar and briefed us on the history. A retired Canadian priest, he and his wife spend the winters in this tiny, remote outpost. He told us that the people here have gentle souls and are quite religious, if not much in the way of regular attendees. A Sunday congregation of 40 (half of them children) makes him a happy man. In parting, he blessed us, our boat and our travels. Thank you, Father Otterley. And peace be with you.

We continued on through the narrow streets, marveling at the breadth of devastation that past hurricanes have left behind. Many, many houses were simply left open to the elements, weathered and vacant and sad. Scruffy, underfed dogs prowled the streets quietly or lazed in shadowy corners. People were friendly, but it was evident from the lack of pleasure boats in the large harbor that they see very few outsiders, and therefore, very few dollars. Once it may have been different. There is a large, deserted hotel on the ocean side of the island that was abandoned by its Norwegian developers in the 1980's.

We decided that lunch at the dockside restaurant looked a little dicey, so we climbed back into the LMT and set out for the comfort of Let's Dance. As we were leaving the "marina" our friends aboard the 'Black Pearl' came alongside with our dinner in hand. Bill couldn't resist a quick photo op with the lucky winners.

 

So, another evening of Bahamian-style gin, another home-cooked dinner -- lobster! -- another beautiful sunset. Life is so hard!

We're up early the next morning for the 22 mile trip to Grand Turk Island -- another new experience awaits us, but first we must endure Mother Nature's marine roller coaster. Waves splash over the bow as we dip into the troughs then soar up again before plummeting again.....eight to ten foot swells with an 8 second interval -- it could be worse! Upon our safe crossing of the Turks Island Passage, Captain Bill proudly announces, "Thank you for flying Air Let's Dance!"

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

Simon Says

The very best way to garner "local knowledge" upon arriving in a new port is to listen in on the VHF radio, channel 16. This is the universal hailing channel for seamen and from here conversations scatter to other channels as chosen by the chatters. If a topic sounds especially interesting, we follow along and eavesdrop. It is the 21st century party line!

In Sapodilla Bay, on the southern shore of Provo, we quickly learned that most of the chats involved Simon, harbour master of the nearby South Side Marina. Arriving vessels hail him to see if dock space is available for overnight, or sometimes just for fueling, and for the all important directions into the shallow harbor. This is where Simon excels. His deep, British-tinted voice comes over the radio time and time again with very explicit instructions. Simon says, "It is imperative to follow the waypoints that I give you to enter the marina. You will see dark patches of coral below you, but if you follow the waypoints, you will be fine. There will be plenty of water!" Time and time again, doubting sailors call back to Simon, "We touched bottom, we saw coral, we turned too soon!" Simon should not be doubted.

Mornings at 0730 hours, Simon also prevails. He has his very own "Cruiser's Net" and it's great! First, he takes roll, asking for boats in the marina to check in if they are awake. Dutifully, they do. "Mojo here, good morning, Simon." "Eos on." "Adante here, Simon." Etc. When the marina occupants are accounted for he moves on to the neighboring bays, asking for new arrivals and old friends. If he thinks you're there and just being lazy, he inquires. "Nepenthe? Are you there, Alex?" He does not tolerate slackers in his realm. Even Captain Bill, usually reticent to reveal our whereabouts, chimes in and we are welcomed to the fold. Then Simon relates the upcoming weather -- tides, winds, seas -- for the next five or six days. "Come now," says Simon, if there are any questions. None being heard, he signs off for the day.

We have a week or so before son Paul arrives in Provo, so we decide to head in to the South Side Marina and Simon's world for a few days. After many radio discussions, the Captain feels confident that we can navigate the shallow channel on a high tide and we creep in, with Simon urging us onward on the radio. "Yes, that's it Let's Dance. You're right on the line, slowly now." Making the last tight turn, we are greeted by Simon in person, waving at us to lead us to our slip. Whew! It was a little tense, but we followed Simon's instructions and, in fact, there was plenty of water. Actually, make that about 6 inches of extra water. Welcome to South Side!

As marinas go, South Side is a tropical treasure. It is not the spiffiest, nor the newest, but it has floating docks (a personal favorite of mine), adequate WiFi, a boat load of interesting transient characters and, best of all...Simon and Charlyn. 

Between them, they can accomplish anything, anything at all. You need a rental car? It's yours. Ride to the grocery store? Of course. Recommendations on restaurants? Not a problem. Soon after docking, Charlyn approached, introduced herself and asked if we'd like to tag along with the group going to the market. Yes indeed, our stores were a little low. The shoppers gather at the marina's truck. Most pile into the truck bed in the back, but, because we're new, I get to ride up front. Perhaps a blessing, perhaps not. There is no A/C, radio or handle for lowering the window on my side. It is a trifle warm. Those in the back, however, must contend with the chalky dust (remember the lack of paved roads?) and the directly overhead sun. We jostle along for a mile or so before hitting a paved road, and from there it's just a short hop to the IGA. With fresh veggies, limes and milk (and a much smaller wad of cash), we truck back to the marina. 

 

Since it's Thursday, Simon says, "It's barbeque night at the marina! Bring something to grill and a side to share and your drinks. We will provide the grill, plates and silverware and ice cream sundaes for dessert." We sigh. Ice cream! Count us in! About twenty assorted sailors of all ages gather for a pitch-in feast....stories abound of past and future ports of call, fish tales, stormy weather, calm seas, broken parts, whale sightings....shared histories and new friends. A group of five travelers from the Czech Republic are staying on a sailboat in the slip next to us. Very curious. They never leave the marina, stay mainly to themselves, and at least a few of them appear to sleep on the dock every night. Their luggage and some bedding stays on the dock full time (even during the afternoon rains) and the oldest of the group spends a lot of daylight hours working on his tan. It is not a pretty sight! 

 

On Saturday, Simon says, "Let's all go to Da Conch Shack for lunch!" A head count is taken and the party is underway. We are fifteen and Simon orders rum punch and conch fritters for the table. I can usually do without conch, but really, at Da Conch Shack? How could you not? Islanders sell conch shells on the beach and I have to have one so I can blow it when the green flash is sighted. (I didn't make this up -- they do it all over the islands.) Learning how to make a decent noise, however, is really hard and I still don't have the knack. While bargaining with the seller, we witness a double baptism in the nearby shallows of the ocean. A touching experience.

With several days to explore Provo we rent a car and attempt to accomplish all the errands we've accumulated over the past weeks. We find a marine store and come away with some new anchor line, a nautical sewing needle, and a batch of frozen ballyhoo for bait. At the Five Cays Electronics store we score about ten new videos. They have binders full of ads for movies and you just write down the number and they pull a copy for you. Pirated, of course, but we were desperate for new media, and got all the recent releases. $4 each.

  At the Wine Cellar we replenished the rum supply and restocked the wine cellar. We even drove over to Grace Bay on the other side of the island.....home to the other half. Beautiful, swanky hotels, restaurants and shops abound on long, white sand beaches. Wow! This is a gorgeous island for those looking for an upscale retreat. We, however, are fine and comfortable with our new friends at South Side Marina.

After a few days ashore It's time for us to motor on and Simon says, "Come see us again and safe travels!" We will come again, with thanks for some special memories.

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

A Big Caicos Welcome

Crossing the deep Caicos Passage from the lower Bahamas to Provo, Turks and Caicos Islands, was a study in aquatic serenity. The ocean this day was most agreeable. Surprising, and oh, so welcome.

The last nine miles (or one and a half hours) to our anchorage in Sapodilla Bay, on the south side of Provo, we were enclosed in a giant pool of shallow water with coral heads to dodge and clear water through which to admire the starfish and rays.

 When we reached the end of our charted route for the day we anchored carefully, and having raised our "quarantine" yellow flag, settled in for another quiet, star-filled night. Once again, we were treated to the sight of the famous "green flash" as we let go of the sun for another day.

Day one in the Turks and Caicos requires a trip into a Port of Entry to clear us and Let's Dance through customs. We launch the Love Me Tender gently into the sea, stuff the backpack with the necessary documentation, life vests, camera and cash. Lots of cash. From the guide books, we know that there is a customs clearing house at the island's government dock, just a short stroll up the hill from the beach. We head out walking and the adventure begins.

First, there are only two paved roads on the island of Provo, and this isn't one of them. Passing cars and trucks kick up plumes of chalky dust and we are soon liberally coated. We follow the road around several corners, and, dodging dump trucks and backhoes and cranes find ourselves at a security gate -- armed guards, no less!

They are friendly, but insist on searching our bags and persons. Since we are wearing only shorts and T-shirts, they relent on the body searches and settle for perusing our passports. We pass the test and are handed nifty little security badges to wear for the 1/4 mile walk further into the compound to the customs building. We play a short game of Dodge-em with the trucks entering and leaving the busy port. Soon we arrive at the barbed wire enclosed office and enter to meet our new best friend, Denise.

It is slow going, but we are able to answer all the questions correctly and are permitted to stay in the islands for up to three months. The quarantine flag can be replaced with the T&C courtesy flag. We choose to pay both entry and departure taxes at this time, along with the cruising permit for Let's Dance and Bill pulls out the Baggie of cash. A year ago a cruising permit cost $75 and the entry/exit stamps were $5 each -- total $85 for all this fun. Last week, however, the corrupt local government having been virtually liquidated by the British, costs have escalated and the permit ran $300 and the stamps $100!! Ouch! At any rate, we paid up and inquired about a taxi to pick us up at this off the beaten track (for tourists) locale. Can't be done, apparently, as they suggest we walk back the dusty road and around the corner to the Chalk Hill Police Station. They, we are told, will call a taxi for us. Okay, we walk.

We arrive at the station and enter, much to the surprise of the young officer at the desk. They must not get much drop-in traffic. He can't hail a taxi for us because he has no phone book. Seriously, this is what he says. He confers with other officers in the back room, and soon it is decided that his sergeant will drive us into town. Oh, my! The sergeant in question, our next best friend Tomiko, appears and we are off. He's delightful...a native of T&C who went to college in Miami to become a cop back home. Obviously an undercover cop as he's wearing ragged jeans and an old T-shirt. He drives us to the north side of the island so we can check out a marina and delivers us into the capable hands of his good friend Kyle, owner of the marina. We discuss slips -- width, length, depth -- entry to the marina at high tide (the only option for us), cost for electricity, water, internet etc. Deciding to think on it, we move next door for a quick lunch at the Tiki Hut. (Or, more aptly, A Tiki Hut.)

Big Jermaine was summoned by Kyle while we ate lunch and is on hand to taxi us back to our southern anchorage at Sapodilla Bay. Our third friendly encounter today. He and Captain Bill talk the intricacies of deep sea fishing (and catching) all the way back and the Captain learns a few new tricks. It's now late in the afternoon, and we are sated by a tasty lunch and coated with a thin film of Caicos dust. Jermaine leaves us and we wander down the beach to recover the Love Me Tender and head home. Now, there was a lesson that we learned the other week, and it entailed anchoring and tidal flow. Remember -- low tide equals beached dinghy? Apparently not a lesson well learned as the LMT is high and dry, a smug smile on her little bow.

I decide on a beach walk while the Captain chooses a short power nap in the stranded tender. What seems like hours later there is enough water below her keel to attempt a float plan and we are aided by British ex-pat Mark and his Haitian refugee friend, Francois. They have been sitting in the shade at the edge of the beach ever since we got here, and now they rush to assist. Mark, it turns out, owns the two bright yellow jet skis that are moored just beyond the low tide line. (That could have been a clue earlier.) He is adamant that he can pull our stubborn little tender into deeper water...pronto! And so he does.

End of day one in the Turks and Caicos and we feel well embraced by our new found friends. Tomorrow we will meet Simon, harbor master at South Side Marina, and begin a new chapter on the ever evolving journey of

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

The Road to Mayaguana

As boaters, if not as individuals, we are obsessively goal oriented. Last winter we realized our objective by motoring to, and returning from, the Bahamas. Our plan for the winter of 2012 was to continue past that now familiar island chain and continue in a lazy southerly crawl across the Tropic of Cancer into the crystalline waters of the Turks and Caicos Islands.

We left the relative bustle of George Town for the more remote Calabash Bay on nearby Gaillot Cay. This wide, crescent shaped bay is perched on the northernmost tip of Long Island (not to be confused with the one in NY, of course.) It is shallow and deceptively flat, as surge from the nearby ocean side rips around the edge of the island to create long swells. The anchorage is solitary, and the side to side sway of Let's Dance is lulling to the senses. We depart early the next morning and are gleefully escorted out of the bay by a pod (herd? bevy? posse?) of dolphin. They love playing in the wake created by the bow of the ship and we never tire of watching their fun.

Day two takes us fifty-eight nautical miles, down the eastern shore of Long Island to an even more remote anchorage named Little Harbor. The first hours of the passage, as we rounded the top of the island, were pretty rough and I chewed a Bonine to ward off the potential of sea sickness. We are not sure if this OTC medication is pronounced "Bo-neen" or "Bo-nine", but one day last year when I was at the helm in especially rough seas, Bill came up the stairs from the staterooms and very thoughtfully asked if he could bring me up a "bovine." Holy cow! Are there cattle in the hold?

Naturally, fishing lines were deployed, and this day, we prevail. A spectacular dolphin fish, or mahi mahi, could not resist the brightly hued green and black "Flash Dancer." The hook, hidden in the Dancer trailed about 8 feet behind the attractor, a glossy orange and black bird. It was just too delicious for him to pass up.

 So, our lead increases in the Captain Bill vs. fish competition. This tummy pleaser weighed in at 25 pounds with a length of 52 inches! Bravo, Bill! Fresh fish on our menu tonight!

We arrived at Little Harbor at 1610 hours and dropped our anchor in the completely empty bay. Alone again! Perfect! But not for long, of course. We were soon joined by "Twilight" and "Karma" and, finally, last to arrive, "Tangueray." Two sail boats and a Grand Banks trawler. They all knew each other and visited both over the radio and by dinghy. The trawler guy took his dinghy out for a quick ride to the other end of the bay and as he zoomed back to "Twilight" he was catapulted off the little boat into the water! Ouch! The dinghy's engine did not quit and it spun in dizzying circles as the young rider quickly swam away from it. The Love Me Tender was secured in her usual spot on the upper aft deck, so we were powerless to help, but "Karma" raced to the scene. Soon the jilted seaman and "Karma's" captain were able to stop the engine and the day was saved. A real rescue at sea!

The following day we added another 57 miles to the odometer and settled into a day on the open ocean. We truly were on our own as we continued south....the only sighting of another boat was of the "Chiquita Bremen", a massive 512 foot container ship with a beam of 72 feet and a 26 foot draft. That's a lot of bananas! Her closet point of approach, which we can calculate with our snazzy AIS system, was 1.3 nautical miles. That is plenty close for us, but she probably would have liked a closer look at our dance card.

Now we have reached the Acklins Group -- perhaps you've heard of them? Crooked Island, Long Cay, Fish Cay and Guana Cay make up this virtually uninhabited chain of islets at the bottom of the Bahamas. The government ferry comes twice a week and if you need propane you can send your tank on the mailboat to Nassau and it will be returned to you in a week. Island time. Flamingos abound in the inner flats and the bonefishing is said to be stellar. We stop for the night at yet another gloriously vacant harbor -- this one named Attwood Harbour on Lady Slipper Cay. A thin white sand ring defined the edge of the anchorage -- clear water, light wind, sunset coming soon. Drinks and snacks on the flybridge, another day well spent.

Next stop is the ever popular Abraham's Bay on Mayaguana Island. Here is some "Need-to-Know" information from the chart book:

Banks: None on island

Churches: Baptist and Jehovah's Witness

Dinghy landing: Government dock - very shallow, channel marked with sticks

Laundry: Inquire locally for hand washing

Marina: None on island

Medical Services: Government clinic with 24 hour nurse. Doctor lives on Inagua

Police: VHF 16 BOYS IN BLUE

We are on a mission to reach the Turks and Caicos ahead of a weather front, so there is no time to explore this southernmost Bahamian island. Maybe on the way back; maybe not. It is a wonderful anchorage, though, reef protected, with light winds and bright stars. We leave refreshed for the final leg of the journey as we depart to a sunrise to remember. The ocean is deep through the Caicos Passage, and the color of India ink. Deep, deep blue/black and, astonishingly calm.

The road to Mayaguana......another tale of life on the high seas. Hope you find your own iguana.

Let's Dance....Carol and Bill

Victory at Sea

Captain Bill and I, Let's Dance, the Love Me Tender, and even our sometimes recalcitrant generator, have settled into a rather monotonous daily routine as we proceed down our southerly path. Daily, we rise, check in with Morning Joe and Imus, sip black coffee, check the weather and the local "Cruiser's Net" chat, rev up the hearty 175 hp Lugger engine, raise the anchor and, charted route activated, set off to another beachy destination.

Afternoons, we anchor, record the day's stats for posterity, launch the tender, read or watch a little TV, and settle in to admire the 360 degree water views. Later, the generator gets exercised for a few hours, producing enough power to see us through another night. We catch the evening news, maybe a Jeopardy episode to keep our brains from complete atrophy. Very peaceful and hypnotic, these little daily rituals.

But then, we begin to experience a gradual erosion of the structure we've created. First, the satellite TV signal weakens and the lower numbered channels disappear. Somehow, all that we can access is the Golf Channel. Hmmmm. Only golf? Bill is thrilled to have this continued diversion, but soon our decreasing latitude makes even this powerful channel fade to nothing. We are without media! No national news, no national weather, no Jeopardy!

For entertainment, we shall have to look to ourselves! Can we do it? Yes, we are up to the task! I find a single deck of cards, slightly sticky from the salt air, and we consider our options. We decide on a Bahamian-style Gin Tournament -- thusly named because neither of us remembers the actual rules, so there will be regional interpretations.

Let the games begin! I am the first victor, although my gloating is short lived as the Captain quickly catches the fever and trounces me repeatedly. Sigh. We have created a monster and its name is "Gin". Luckily for us, friends Denise and Bernie soon arrive in George Town to divert us from our 52 card mania.

George Town, Great Exuma Island, is THE boater's mecca in the Bahamas. There are conservatively 250 boats anchored here in a huge, quiet bay. George Town proper sits on the western side of the bay and, to the east lie Monument Bay, Volleyball Beach and Sand Dollar Beach. A local "Cruiser's Net" is broadcast daily over the VHF radio system, alerting all to the scope of available activities. You just would not believe it! Volleyball Beach is home to (in no particular order) yoga classes, Bible study, bocce, garden club, beach golf, dominos, regatta committee meetings, horseshoes and of course, volleyball. These boaters are serious about their fun. Rockin' Ronnie and Cool Karen provide music for the weekly dances and the Kalik consumption is world class.

Announcements from cruisers are encouraged on the daily "net", and we have been offered online a bubbly, active sourdough starter, shared taxi rides to the airport, information on cruising to Cuba, a found single sandal, a spare hand held radio and "drive-by carry out." What is that? There is also the need for someone to repair a rip in a dodger, the loan of a circular saw and algae-free jerry cans for water. The list goes on and on. New arrivals are encouraged to announce themselves and departing vessels are bid adieu. George Town is small town America, alive and well, afloat in the Bahamas.

Our first full day with Denise and Bernie was spent at anchor a few miles south of Volleyball Beach. The winds were fierce, so we decided to rough it by spending an entire day reading, eating and, guess what? Playing cards! With four aboard, the game changed from Bahamian-style Gin to Exuma Hearts. None of us could recall the rules to this game either, so we improvised. Apparently my improvisational skills are not as highly developed as the others' because I am soon way ahead, or behind, depending on how you score. We had fun, though, and it was a relaxing way to drift through an afternoon.

The next morning, with Bernie at my usual post and wearing my crew com headset, we prepare to raise the anchor. The links of the rode are not responding well to being drawn in and they choose to twist and turn instead of meekly going back through the stripper arm and into the anchor locker. Something is amiss here. The screeching noise is but one clue. So, we do what we always do. We stop, ponder the situation, choose a course of action and solve the problem. In this case, the solution involves a vise, assorted wrenches, channel pliers and creativity. Once the errant arm is removed from the windlass, Bill and Bernie take turns beating it with a hammer until it regains its former, straight metal shape. A scant two hours later and we're back in business!

The winds are much calmer today, so Captain Bill, with Bernie as crew, and the newly straightened stripper arm, bring us back to the heart of George Town. We climbed aboard the Love Me Tender and motored in to explore Monument Bay. The monument in question was erected to celebrate the landing of Christopher Columbus (this guy, like George Washington, was everywhere!) and the short walk up the scrubby hill provided a 360 degree view of the Atlantic, Stocking Island, the bay chock full of sailboats, and Great Exuma Island. Wow! We scooted down the sandy path on the other side of the hill to the ocean and had a wonderful walk on the deserted, oceanside beach. This perfect day ended with another round of Exuma Hearts, some great music and, yes, even a little dancing!

But the piece de resistance of this tiny island community is undoubtedly the "Chat and Chill". This cottage on stilts is decorated with used, autographed T'shirts from all over the world, business cards stapled to the walls, graffiti on every flat surface and a very accommodating bar tender named Kendall. We tried our hands at dominoes, but again, rules eluded us so we ended up building tiny castles of tiles as high as possible until they tumbled down onto the scarred table top.

Our wonderful visit with the Mansheims came to an end and the 'last chance' scores in Exuma Hearts were 56, 105, 98 and 87. I'm not going to tell who was the victor at sea! What happens on Let's Dance, etc., etc. We are all winners aboard this fine ship.......

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

The Deep

On Tuesday, January 24, 2012, at exactly 0907 hours, Carol and the Captain officially went over the edge. You may believe that this happened some years ago, but no. This is how it went:

The route from Florida to Cat Cay took us across the Straits of Florida, a 60 mile ride through the Gulf stream in water that ranged from 150 to over 900 feet deep. Let's Dance flew over the ocean, scaring up the occasional fleet of flying fish along the way and playing tag with a few dolphin friends, too. Bill put out the fishing lines and soon the 'zing' cry of "fish on" rang out! Several hours later, with Cat Cay in sight, and much shallower waters ahead, it was time to bring in the lines. Final score: Captain Bill - 0; Fish - 2! Lures, that is.

Cat Cay is "private" and mariners are cautioned to avoid anchoring at the end of the little runway that dissects the island. Smart! One plane did, in fact, land while we floated nearby. This tiny dot in the ocean lies just south of Bimini at the western edge of the Great Bahama Bank. The ocean here can only boast depths of 10 to about 30 feet -- a far cry from what we just crossed. A real plus for us to this shallow water is that tankers, cargo ships and especially cruise ships draw too much water to get in our way. The 60 mile passage east across the Bank was very, very quiet. We were en route for 7 hours before encountering even one other boat, and it was over 4 miles off our port side. Talk about a lonely planet! 

 

Our anchorage that night, in 20 feet of water, was beyond amazing -- just us and the stars. I know the dippers and Orion's belt, but that's about the extent of my astrological acumen. Even with no savvy at all, however, the clear night sky, 60 miles from the nearest manmade light, was beyond breath-taking. Our lonely anchor light must have looked pretty insignificant in the vastness of the ocean around us.

The next leg of the journey, south and east to Andros Island, took us into the Northwest Channel. Let's Dance boasts two depth finders, or transducers, that measure the "DBK" or depth below the keel, a number of great significance in these shallow Bahamian waters. We left our solitary anchorage, noting that we still had 14 feet DBK. Then, suddenly, within minutes, there was no depth reading -- at all. On any of the three dials that reliably report this data. Just dotted lines where once there were numbers. We have, it seems, fallen off the edge of the world, and into the "Tongue of the Ocean."

The trusty depth finders bounced from simple dotted lines signifying nothing to readings around 2,612 feet, back to nothing then to 3,346 feet and so on for hours. The "Tongue of the Ocean" is a deep, deep trough that runs between Andros Island to the west and the Exumas to the east. At it's deepest, it measures over 8,400 feet below the sea's surface. Nothing down there for the transducers to bounce off. Submarines and other US Navy vessels use the area to practice their moves -- we looked and looked and looked for signs of rising submarines to no avail. They must have spotted us from the watery depths below and stayed down -- guess we wowed them with our dance moves!

By the time we arrived in the Exumas, it had been about ten days since I last had land underfoot and I was itchy to stretch my legs. Bill went ashore in the Love Me Tender at Morgan's Bluff, Andros, to clear us through customs. Only the captain is allowed to leave the ship for this process. He shared a few Kalik's with the locals at Willie's Bar while waiting for the customs rep to drive over from the airport. Very efficient system, Bahamas! One stop beer and national security.

Safely across the "Tongue", we anchored off Norman's Cay, a familiar stop from last winter. Tender launched, we motored up to the beach, anticipating a long walk and a tasty lunch. As we got closer to shore, I moved to the front of the Love Me Tender, prepared to step into the water and hold her steady until Bill could raise the motor and get out to tie her up to a nearby tree. So, I perch on the bow, watching the water get more and more shallow -- I can see individual grains of sand and tiny bits of coral quite clearly. I wait and wait and then put my feet over the bow and into the cool water. We are just about two feet from the shore. Instead of asking Bill for a DBK reading, I use my own judgment. There appears to be about 8 inches of water, so I begin to slide over only to find no purchase below! There is no stopping my downward momentum now, however, and I am immediately up to my waist in salt water! It's cold! And I'm soaked and there is no option but to walk the short distance to McDuff's, the restaurant, wet from the waist down, ask for a table and air dry. Luckily for me, this is the kind of dive where no one would notice, or comment on, one's state of deshabillement.

After a mediocre lunch of burger and fries (not found on the menu of Let's Dance), we walked across the airstrip to the other side of the island where a failed landing attempt in the drug smuggling days of the 70's left a rather large airplane in the middle of the bay. Not a pretty sight. With my shorts now dry, we ambled back to the Love Me Tender to find her high and dry as well. The tide has receded, and she is hard aground! We can't lift her so the only option is to wait for the tide to return enough to get her afloat. 

 

This day, and every day, there are lessons to be learned and laughter to be shared.

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