April 10-11: Warderick Cay to Staniel Cay, Staniel to Sampson Cay

"Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence."  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

After too little time in the Exuma Land and Sea Park, we drop our mooring pennant and head for Staniel Cay. Our intentions: to drop Michael and Sus so that they can catch a small plane from the local landing strip back to Nassau and to hunker down for some strong winds later in the week.

I know I have complained about the eternal presence of the wind on our nose for each of the past several travel days, but not today! We set all plain sail and turn off the iron genny for a 15 mile run south to Staniel. Its a beautiful day with 10-15 knot winds and white puffy skies. We enjoy the catbird seats and the wind in our sails. The islands to windward smooth out the wave action, so we cruise along, between 6 and 7 knots with only light spray over our bow from time to time. The harnesses and our tethers are temporarily forgotten in the beauty of the day, but remembering a cocktail hour story by the skipper of the S/V Lady Hawk, we put them on as is our routine.

The last hour of our three hour run south, I trim the sails and take the boat off autopilot and Michael actually gets an hour to sail the boat to Sandy Cay where we will turn to cross the shallows to Staniel Cay. The sandbar shoals to 6 ft., but we cross without problems and enter the harbor. We contact the marina, and follow their directions onto a long pier, turning and backing up next the stern of a megayacht. In fact, we were almost completely surrounded. No wait... another sailboat pulled in after us. We were trapped! Sweltering in the megayacht canyon, we hooked up the electrical and proceeded to turn on the a/c... but no electricity to be found. "The island generator is out. The electricity will be on when its back on." The yacht adjacent to our cockpit solved the problem by turning on its genset. Unfortunately, his diesel fumes filled our cockpit as a result. Well, where are the showers? It has been a few days and we are smelling a little ripe. "Oh, we don't have showers." A laundry? "Well there's a lady in town, but its too late for her to hang it out to get dry today." Aaaah... where do I check in? "At the bar... someone gonna help you by and by."

Plan B: Sandra and I showered on the boat; Michael and Susan chose to wait till Nassau. After a while the a/c came on. Michael prepared an incredible seafood paella for our final dinner and we opened a couple of bottles of wine and celebrated our last evening together. The next morning, when Susan and Michael hopped into a golf cart for the trip to the airstrip, Sandra and I shoved off and ran a few miles back to the north to the Sampson Cay Marina. Sampson was everything that Staniel had not been, though there remained a preponderance of big motor vessels  in the marina. The windy weather was now expected Wednesday thru Thursday, so I spent some energy wondering should we stay or should we go before finally deciding that we wanted a few days to be still. Ultimately, we would spend almost a week enjoying Sampson. More on that to follow... John

April 8-9: Allan's Cay to Warderick Cay, The Exuma National Land and Sea Park

"I pray to be like the ocean, with soft currents, maybe waves at times. More and more, I want the consistency rather than the highs and the lows." Drew Barrymore

The stationary high that had provided fair weather and 15 to 20 knot winds on our bow for most of the trip was scheduled to continue till the week-end. Anchor was aweigh around 0830. Under blue skies and surrounded by post-card waters, we turned our little vessel southward.

Our next stop was to be a two day stay at Warderick Wells, in the northern mooring field at the Exuma Land and Sea Park. We had submitted a request for a mooring the day before and according to the park protocol we would learn our fate on an 0900 broadcast on the vhf. We listened as boats currently on moorings announced their intentions to stay or go and then sat hopefully as the list was read. Finally, we heard our name. Llyrical is on mooring 14, near the office and across from the whale skeleton on the beach. We cheered and continued the short run south to the park. As we turned into the Warderick bore, we came up behind another sailboat, Blue Goose, moving cautiously toward the park.

Blue Goose, learning that this was our first time in the park, gave us some valuable local information regarding entry into the narrow natural channel. We followed them through the bore and turned into the mooring field, taking full advantage of their experience. Our route in was confined to a channel approximately 60 ft wide. Approximately every 150 ft, a 40-60 ft. boat swung across the channel. Still, it was a fairly simple matter to follow the dark blue water banded by white sandy shoal, sometimes weaving past the bow of a moored boat; other times past their sterns. Michael and Sandra were stationed on the bow and with the help of the walkie talkies, we easily grabbed the pennant... twice... and got a bridle on the mooring ball and ourselves situated.

We got the dinghy down and the motor on it, checked in at the office, and were free for the rest of the day as well as the next to swim, snorkel, hike, have next-door neighbors for cocktails or just relax in one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. The entire crew had a blast.

Murphy was confined to the beaches, but she did not mind. She LOVED her thrice-daily dink rides into shore to do her business. She and I chose a long white sand beach next to a shallow creek that ran through mangroves all the way across the island at high tide. We motored close then I paddled up onto the uncovered white sandbar. Murphy celebrated our arrival by launching herself out of the dink into the shallow and ran crazily in circles in and out of the shallow water, occasionally stopping to sniff a plant or paw daintily at a rock just under the surface of the water. While I explained to her that she was not allowed to hunt the curly tailed lizards, she still thought they must be fair game. After her run, she was well tired out and when she completed her business we returned to the dink, sandy and wet, where she would just as exuberantly launch herself into the bow and wait for me to get back to deeper water to lower the motor and return to Llyrical. She took her place up on the bow as we putted along, leaning out, looking side to side and at the bottom, spotting a fish or a ray with a 6ft wingspan or just snapping at the spray until we were back aboard. Of course, Murphy should have felt right at home. There was a local ghost with the same name. John

April 7: Nassau to Allan's Cay, Exumas

"Life is an uncharted ocean. The cautious mariner must needs take Many soundings ere he conduct his barque to port in safety." Unknown

We set a leisurely departure from Nassau in order to ensure that the sun would be well overhead leaving about 0900. I radioed Nassau Harbor Control of our intentions and they approved our departure. Departure from the marina went according to experience if not our plan.

With Sandra at the wheel and the wind on our nose, we hoped to back to starboard and head stylishly out into the channel. But then we discovered that the boat next to us had dropped a dock line over our port stern line, jamming it firmly in place. By the time I wrestled with the line a while and our neighbor came out and freed it, our plan was lost. In any case, we got away from the slip... and off we went!

Today was the day that we would cross the Yellow Bank, a 6-12 foot shoal area dotted with coral heads. We selected a route to Allan's Cay, the best looking of several alternative courselines that are recommended for crossing the bank. Allan's Cay is renowned in the Exumas for its population of iguanas and a small anchorage with 360 degree protection. It serves as the first stop in the Exumas for many cruisers and we felt it would serve us well.


We departed to the east, setting a course for Porgee Rock. I watched anxiously for hazards, but other than ambiguity, there seemed to be none. The channel was wide if not well-marked. Excursion boats taking people out for a view of reefs through glass bottoms, transparent kayaks or snorkel  or dive boats helped make our route clear. Along the way, I set some waypoints up on the plotter. Note to self: I need to set up waypoints the day before we travel.

The wind was blowing briskly out of the east so sails were not an option. It was another one of those days where we motored up to the top of a 4-5 foot wave before falling bow first into the trough. With only 35 miles to travel, we proceeded on a leisurely but careful crossing of the bar. As we approached the shoal, we slowed the boat and Michael put on a harness and tether and went forward with a walkie talkie to serve as a lookout from the bow. His job was to warn of coral heads. The coral heads looked like dark voids lurking just under the beautiful aqua waters. From his position, standing behind the furled headsail, Michael would report. "200 yards at 11 o'clock". Now 150 yards at 10 o'clock." As our bow buried in the waves, spray would fly up twenty feet in the air on either side of him. "Eeeeehaaaaa, "he would yell.... "200 yards  at 1 o'clock. 100 yards dead ahead." At the wheel, I made minor course corrections to ensure that we went around or between the heads. In 45 minutes, we were through and back to deeper water.

The approach to the anchorage was fairly easy if tense for me. Two tongues of deep water with a sand bar between ran north and south between two islands. I tried the eastern channel first puttering past the beach. The crew of a small motorboat was on the beach feeding the iguanas. We had an excellent view of them as we moved up the channel. Having heard that the iguanas bite, we decided that we had seen them close enough. The north end of the channel shoaled quickly, so after touching the keel to a sandbar, I reversed and proceeded to the western channel where we anchored without further event. Michael and I put on snorkel and mask and confirmed that the anchor was well set, and I gave Murphy her first ride to shore in the dinghy. Somewhat surprisingly, she decided Michael needed help and launched herself into the water after him. Prior to this trip, Murphy has NOT been a water baby. After swimming over to him she apparently had second thoughts and turned and headed back for the dink where I hoisted her out of the water and proceeded to a small beach for her to do her business. Later, we celebrated our arrival in the Exumas with a bottle of bubbly as we watched the sun dropping down to the horizon. John

April 5-6: Chub Cay to Nassau, New Providence Island

"How inappropriate to call this planet Earth when it is quite clearly Ocean." Arthur C. Clarke
Departure from Chub Cay was routine. We were soon heading east under main and genoa. Given the wind from the northeast, we were able to point toward the west end of New Providence Island. Unfortunately, we needed to point a bit east of there to get to Nassau. So we replaced the genoa with the staysail and added the diesel at a couple thousand rpm. The use of the diesel allowed us to point a little higher than possible under sail alone. We stayed as close to the wind as we could, anticipating that the wind would gradualy clock around to the east. We moved nicely out of the Northwest Channel and across the open sweep of the Northeast Providence Channel. Despite 5-6 foot seas, this was one of our least eventful days. Llyrical beat into wind on a close reach all the way to Nassau. Lunch was another fruit and cheese in the cockpit affair. Very little food preparation had occurred in the galley underway on this trip.
Outside the harbor, we contacted Nassau Harbor Control on vhf and obtained permission to enter and proceed to a marina. They apparently wanted to make sure that other boats do not get in the way of the ginormous cruise ships that occasionally come and go from the harbor.
We passed the Atlantis Resort, crept under the twin spans of the bridge to Paradise Island and arrived at our intended marina. As we approached, I gradually became a bit concern. We were to dock on the west side of the east pier or was it the east side of the west pier? All I could see was a megayacht on the face dock leaving a narrow passage back to a narrow offset fairway with some crowded slips without finger piers. "Hmmm," quoth the captain to the first mate/radio operator, "Where is this slip, again?" So saying, he realizes the current is sweeping him toward aforesead megayacht and narrow passage.  With a certainty, that once entering, he will never extricate himself, he throws the boat in reverse gear and attempts to back into the tidal and windborne flood. Slowly his vessel responds... backing jauntily into the wind, he reverses his courser along the various marinas along the shoreline while aforesaid radio operator, mate, and did I mention admiral, got us a new reservation at the Nassau Harbor Club Marina.
As soon as we convinced the dock hand that we were in fact backing their way and would arrive any moment, we were greeted and tied in an excellent slip near a nifty neighborhood in Nassau.
Over the next 24 hours would find all the comforts of home: free water, a laundry, a grocery, a chandlery, an upscale specialty foods store, a nifty neighborhood diner for breakfast, a cool Bahamas-theme seafood restaurant overlooking the water, and a Starbucks for that early morning latte while walking Murphy. Aaah, ain't life grand! John

Bahama Impressions

"Either you decide to stay in the shallow end of the pool or you go out in the ocean."  Christopher Reeve

I've thought about this cruise for years.  John and I have talked about it for years.  I'm not sure when we began talking about it as my retirement trip but sometime long ago.  We did alot of planning.  We got our HAM licenses.  We bought the Explorer charts (reputedly, the most accurate).  We studied cruiser blogs.  We re-equipped the boat.  We read guide books. We provisioned, possibly, overprovisioned.  We set a sail plan.  But, nonetheless, I was still unprepared for this journey. 

I expected the poverty of small islands; I did not expect the mega-yachts that dominate many anchorages and marinas.  I had seen hundreds coming down the ICW so I should not have been surprised, but I was.  The contrast between their mass and most other boats is stark. 

I knew Bimini would be small and weathered but I was unprepared for the extensive and on-going development on the north coast of North Bimini.  Condos, vacation homes and deep sea fishing boats were everywhere.  This gated community sat separate and apart from the native towns.  

I was quite surprised when our friend, Michael Brenner, when diving for conch in Bimini, actually came back to the dink with four.  He subsequently extracted the conch and made a marvelous curried conch stew.  His cooking skills did not surprise me.

I expected the significant waves and wind but I did not expect the relentlessness of the Grand Bahama Bank where we anchored with no land in sight.  It was both exhilarating and terrifying.  I loved it.  Despite wave after wave that rocked us through the night, I found it amazing. 

I had been warned by too many cruisers about safety issues in Nassau to be anything other than surprised by the inviting beauty of the main channel shoreline with palms, shrubs and bright flowers. 

While snorkeling at the Exuma Land and Sea Park,  I was startled by a school of fish (were they fish?) that were about seven inches long, had a pointy end and a bulbous end with what looked liked a ruffle all around, that swam upright.  They turned perfectly clear from a deep purple when I swam closer.  I truly had never seen anything like it and later learned from my friendd, Susan Baker, our Minister of Common Sense (a story in itself), that they were Luminous Squid.

I was unprepared to have my breath taken away--as I climbed Boo Boo Hill to see numerous blowholes--and turned and looked at Llyrical sitting gently on her mooring.  How lovely she looked with her distinctive blue hull.  I felt proud and happy.

Conversely, I did not expect to be the tiny little sailboat--at forty feet, no less--amidst a village of mega-yachts, as we spent the night on Staniel Cay so Michael and Susan could take the plane to Nassau and home. 

After tasting Bahamas marinas, I was shocked by the quaint beauty of the one at Sampson Cay.  It has wonderful surrounding beaches, great grilling and picnic areas, many trails that allow for 360 degree views of all the surrounding islands. And docks that are spacious and with electricity that works.  Oh, and, yes, there are shore showers and laundry.

I knew John was an excellent sailor and watchful Captain but I did not remember his extensive knowledge of winds, waves and weather systems.  He is truly gifted at this craft.

And now I know, as we rock gently, hunkered down for incoming weather, that over the next several weeks, there will be more unexpected discoveries--some delightful, some frightening, some sad and some purely amazing.  Sandra

April 3-4: Alice Town, Bimini to Chub Cay, Berry Islands

"No one would have crossed the ocean if he could have gotten off the ship in the storm." Charles Kettering

April 3: We departed the Blue Water Marina in Alice Town on the high tide. I had been planning my departure since I arrived.  My boat handling skills aren't bad, but there are some unfavorable aspects to Llyrical's boat handling. Chiefest of these is her strong tendency while reversing with any significant breeze to rotate and back directly into it regardless of where I attempt to steer. To put it another way, when you put her in reverse her bow will blow downwind if there is even 5 or 6 knots of breeze, much less 15-20.
Now a rational person would accept this and plan accordingly. However, hope springs eternal in my breast and once again I devised a plan to depart the slip despite a strong cross wind that would craftily overcome Llyrical's baser instincts and demonstrate my complete mastery of my vessel.  So, plan 'A'... walk her out till the stern is exposed and begins to blows down; use a midship spring line to further encourage the turn for a moment and then slip the line, shift into forward and voila! we would steam out of the fairway into the channel without further ado.  The actuality (also known as plan 'B')... walk her out till the spring line locks itself around the piling and snubs the boat to the dock; free the line and fend off; back hard with the rudder turned to leeward while the stern ignores the rudder and turns to windward instead. As the boats across the fairway loom large and their owners begin to stir, throw her into forward and hard right rudder turning her bow to leeward away from the channel (why fight it?). Throw her back into reverse holding hard right rudder and pray that she will begin to move backwards in time... and voila! we steamed backwards up the fairway and out into the channel.
This was to be our longest day. In fact, it was to be a two day run with an overnight anchor in exposed water in the middle of the bank.
Once out of the channel between North and South Bimini, the course was north to North Rock light, then south-east across the Grand Bahamas Bank.  In the deep water of the first leg, we encountered fairly heavy seas (4-5 ft), but once we got up on the Bank, the waves diminished to 2-3 ft. building a little as the wind picked up in the afternoon. We ran 11 hours that day, standing one-hour watches until just at dusk, I found a patch of 14 ft water over sand and deployed the anchor and 75 ft of chain. I had been nervous about this. Now, as the light faded, and the swells built to 4 or 5 ft., I watched Llyrical's bow blow down as though it was relatively unfettered by anchor and rode. Okay, bound to dig in by and by, I thought dropping another 25 ft of chain. Finally, the anchor dug in and held and the stern gradually began to work it's way to leeward. I set the snubber and an anchor alarm and rejoined the crew for a delightful dinner.
Sandra had made a fabulous Ethiopian stew with the last of our venison and some tasty red lentils before our departure from Miami. She served it with warm naan to my delight (but Michael's dismay... he wanted injera). Following dinner, we prepared for bed. Murphy and I set up in the cockpit for anchor watch. We answered hails from occasional boats that wanted to be sure that our anchor light was not the Russell Beacon, and cat-napped throught the night.
April 4: Up with the sun and away. We hauled anchor and headed east. The morning's run was pleasant but anticlimactic. The Northwest Channel proved straightforward and easy to negotiate and we were in Chub Key by lunch-time where we refueled and rested. Chub Cay was a disappointment. Chub Cay was designed to cater to large sports fishing boats (over 40 ft), but it had failed financially and was limping along, incomplete and a little sad. I guess that's why we were allowed in. In any case, along with the unfinished clubhouse were unfinished showers. While a walk of a half mile around the marina did grant access to a grungy cinderblock building with showers and another with a laundry, the facilites did not live up to the facade nor the outrageous $4/ft slip fees. To make matters worse, Chub Cay appears to have double charged us (the equivalent of $8 per foot). On the up side, I will certainly store the memory of Sandra and I walking along the pristine beach at sunset while Murphy played in the surf. John

Biscayne Bay to Bimini

"Just as the wave cannot exist for itself, but is ever a part of the heaving surface of the ocean, so must I never live my life for itself, but always in the experience which is going on around me." Albert Schweitzer
It has been 11 days since our departure from Miami's Dinner Key Marina in the predawn hours of April Fool's day with our full complement of captain, mate, ship's dog and crew: Michael Brenner and Susan Baker. Michael and Susan left this morning from the Staniel Cay air strip in the Exumas.  We are now tied up at Sampson's Cay Marina, a few miles north of Staniel Cay.  This and the following entries will attempt to catch you up on our voyage so far:
April 1: We pulled out of the marina at 0530; We planned a slow transit across Biscayne Bay, exit through the so-called Stiltsville channel and dawn arrival at Fowey Rocks, the traditional point of departure for Bimini.
April Fools!!!!! Hard aground!!!! 50 ft outside of the marina with the ebbing tide. "Well," quoth the captain, "guess we'll go tomorrow. Got the phone number for Tow Boat US, Honey?" But as luck would have it, the cap'n's patented 'desperate squirming' tactic caused the bar to release its grip on our keel and we shot in reverse back toward the unseen, clearly marked (in the light) channel. From there we proceeded cautiously.  While the crew panned the dark horizon for nearby daymarks or distant lights, I largely ignored them and trusted the instruments. I just kept the little virtual boat thingy between the digital marker thingies on my dimmed chart plotter and hoped for the best.

So off to the Fowey Rock light after threading  our way through the Stiltsville channel just after dawn. 

As the sun rose, we ran out the genoa and proceeded to steer east. An hour later, the water temperature began to rise and we found our course over ground had been converted to east, north-east.  We knew we had found the gulf-stream. The waves built to about 3 ft and the wind 14-15 knots, but the boat and crew remained comfy as we made 7.5 kts toward North Bimini.

Our approach to North Bimini was stressful but uneventful. Stressful, because I had seen a photo on the internet of a Catalina 480 awash on the beach a few weeks before and read reports that some of the buoys marking the channel into the harbor might be missing. I had also heard that my electronic charts would be worthless. LIES!!!! As far as I could tell, ALL of the buoys were gone... but my chartplotter showed the ghostly images of the four missing buoys and the curving channel through them and gave us a close-enough idea of where to steer. Michael took on the role of honorary ship's figurehead (aka king of the world) and gave reports from the bow. Reading the water wasn't too difficult. The lighter the blue the shallower the water, but mustard or black areas indicate a coral head while less intense dark areas were generally grassy bottom. So I mostly steered for the darker lighter blue and muttered prayers. The bar had obviously drifted a bit as we had only a foot of water under the keel at the shallowest spot, but no worries. We arrived without incident at the Blue Water Marina around 1430, cleared customs around 1600 and the crew began a day of leisure before resuming our voyage east and south.  John