As we prepare to leave, Adrian makes a special trip from Coconut Creek to Riviera Beach to stow some of our provisions. To his surprise and horror, our dinghy is gone from the marina! (This is like walking out of the grocery store with a cartful of food, only to find that your car is missing.) Despite the marina security (ha), someone has cut the shank on our full-sized lock and stolen our dinghy and outboard. Without the dinghy, we are stuck. After filing a police report, we don't expect to ever find our Achilles inflatable again, so we search the classifieds for another used dinghy, but they're all on the West coast of Florida. We wind up driving to North Miami to buy an entire outfit (dinghy and outboard) from a Boat/US dealership, where we also get to experience the terrific fun and exorbitant expense of a Dade County Vehicle Registration Office. We figure that the exorbitant fees and paperwork is good practice for the Bahamas. The entire episode is a big blow to our budget, and a bigger blow to our morale.
We are now very eager to get back onboard Canto, as we are now very worried about her safety! The dinghy search has put us back a week, and another "weather window" passes us by. Finally, we all pile into the car, load the new dinghy and OB in the trunk, stash our stuff in our friends' car carrier, and head back to Riviera Beach. The new dinghy is a Roll-Up, and is assembled with ease (the old one was a royal pain to setup - every cloud has a silver lining). We get to Canto and to our great relief discover her undisturbed.
Sunday morning at 4am, shortly after moving back onboard, we get a call from the police department that our old dinghy has been recovered. "Come get it in 20 minutes or we'll tow it." Good news, right? It's pitch black, we have to dinghy to shore, call a taxi, and get "there" - wherever it is - all in 20 minutes. So, we say "Tow it." We figure they'll put it on a flatbed and we'll collect it in the morning. How bad can it be?
Complications start later that day. We learn that there is a $40 "administration fee" for "vehicles" remaining on the lot more than 24 hours (in addition to the towing charge, plus $12 per day storage fee), AND the towing company is closed on Sunday, but the fees still accrue. We learn that the pickup charge will be $110 (later, they actually charge $120 - no explanation offered).
Early Monday, Adrian heads out to pick up our old dinghy. He has to pay before even seeing the dinghy and discovers that Kauss' Towing Service has dragged the dinghy using a towchain, across beach, rocks, concrete, upside down, sideways, etc. The dinghy has serious abrasion on the top, sides, and the bottom is worn through. In short, the dinghy is now worthless. Adrian takes the issue to the manager, who is (of course) not sympathetic. Adrian tells him, "Well, the honorable thing for you to do would be to refund the money you took from me to total my dinghy." The manager replies, "Yes, that would be honorable, but I'm not going to do that." Just for the record, Kauss' Towing Service in Riviera Beach, FL is under contract to the Riviera Beach Police Department and, by the way, the posted consumer complaint phone number doesn't work.
One plan we had before we knew the dinghy was totaled was to take it to NC with us somehow (or ship it) and try to sell it there. Now we just want to get rid of it before we lose any more money! Adrian does get $200 cash for it at a dive shop; the outboard is still in good shape and worth the price. We figure we'll write letters of complaint later; right now we want to shake the South Florida sand from our shoes and get on with our travels.
From another cruising couple -- Jack and Julie on Carioca -- we learn that, while we were visiting our friends, there have been TWO murders very close by - one on someone's boat in the marina, and one on nearby Peanut Island. Since the timeframe of the murders is the same as of our stolen dinghy, we wonder if the murderer's escape vehicle was our dinghy. We REALLY want to get out of here! We frankly never want to see Palm Beach again.
The Gulf Stream is the primary hurdle between us and the Bahamas. The Gulf Stream is a warm ocean current that starts in the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico. It carries 100 times more water than all the world's rivers combined, and sweeps warm, tropical water northward at an average rate of about 60 miles a day. Near West Palm Beach, the Gulf Stream can run as fast as 5 miles per hour, sweeping slower boats (ie, non-planing powerboats and sailboats) headed for the Bahamas northward just as fast as they're moving eastward.
Weather keeps us in Palm Beach for a couple of days more, but on Thursday, we think we have a "go." Once we get to West End (in the Bahamas), it's likely we will be stuck there for some time by the next frontal system, but it's better than being stuck here! We slip out of Lake Worth Inlet early Thursday morning, at 4:00 am, and head once again into the Atlantic. Jack and Julie on Carioca, as well as a couple other boats, also leave at this time. The inlet is rough, but we're glad to get outta Dodge.
What we are expecting, according to the weatherfax and local forecast, are 10-15 knots (12 to 18 mph) of wind from the south or southwest and seas of 2 to 4 feet. It is a lovely forecast for crossing the stream; there are no contrary winds to kick up a steep chop in the Stream, and the light southerly breeze means that we'll have very little waves at all. Also, we should have ample time to get to West End before the next front.
Of course, theory and reality often differ, especially in meteorology. In fact, we experience a steady 20 to 25 knots (up to 30 mph) of wind, almost on the nose ("on the nose" means the wind is coming from the direction one is trying to head, making for slow progress), with higher gusts. This is the beginning of what we come to term, "The Bahamas Incessant Wind Ensemble." The result in The Stream is 6- to 8-foot seas, and we are beating (slap, pitch, wiggle, splash) into it. It is a 10 hour rollercoaster ride from hell, with saltwater thrown in for good measure. We briefly consider returning to Palm Beach to wait for a better window, but the thought of returning to THAT place makes us even more miserable.
Under power in these conditions, Canto makes only 3 to 4 knots -- agonizingly slow -- but, under sail, Canto shows her true colors. We sail much faster than we motor, and the sails steady out the motion. Canto shoulders aside most of the waves and surges through the water at over 6 knots. This speed is both a blessing and a curse - we want to slow Canto down to be more comfortable, but we want to go fast to get the heck out of the Gulf Stream.
Of course, it could have been far worse. The wind is from the south, so it does not cause the Gulf Stream to have larger waves than the surrounding ocean. Had the wind had been anywhere from the north, the Gulf Stream would have been treacherous. In northerlies, the waves in the Gulf Stream are much larger than normal since when wind and current oppose one another, the waves are made much taller and steeper. In effect, a north wind creates a collossal tidal rip in the Gulf Stream - a tidal rip which, in strong winds, is able to overpower even freighters.
We hit the worst part of the Stream about 20 miles from shore. The current sweeps us northward at 4 knots. Carioca, having a powerful engine and weighing 30 tons, is able to point into the wind, and pulls ahead to the southeast. We feel a bit gloomy about this, but only about 15 miles later, we are nearly free of the Stream -- the waves even out and lengthen. Free of the Stream, the wind seems to clock a bit so that we're not going into it quite so much. On this point of sail, Canto really digs in, and we are soon blasting along at over 8 knots towards West End!
Shortly, Carioca heaves into view over the horizon to our southwest. With her powerful engine and with the wind now more on her quarter, Carioca is moving faster than us, but she has covered more ground. They overtake us close to West End. As they pull up behind us, they claim they can see our entire keel, just barely in the water due to our angle of heel, when we rise up on the large swells. We see their keel, too, but nobody feels like taking photos!
Ten hours into our trip, we sight land - the Bahamas! We are very happy, and raise our yellow quarantine flag (a going-away present from a friend in NC). Just over 10 hours after leaving Palm Beach, we're tied-up and have cleared Customs and Immigration. Not a bad trip time considering the conditions.
As expected, the weather keeps us in West End with gale force conditions. To put a gale in perspective, it is 30 knots and more of wind. In those conditions, while tied up securely in a slip, we heard the moaning of the wind through the rigging and actually heel over in our slip. We also had to use our heavier dock lines, as our regular dock lines were beginning to _melt_ from the strain. Those who did venture out during this period mostly came to grief. However, as expected, Old Bahama Bay Marina is a much nicer place to be stuck than Palm Beach, and full of friendly cruisers. We make the acquaintance of Lynne and Joe on Sunshine, docked next to us, and Angie is delighted to meet a fellow chemist, Lynne. We also meet Reg and Val on Aquabella who crossed with us from Palm Beach. Old Bahama Bay is very well protected, has a heated swimming pool, an exercise room, a pretty beach, a fishing hole, bicycles, unlimited fresh water and snorkelling trails. It doesn't take us long to get acquainted with other folks over "happy hours" and potluck dinners. The marina even has a large telescope which we use to view the stars and planets, rounding out our homeschooling unit on "The Universe."
On Sunday, the wind is west to northwest. It has moderated somewhat, but is still near gale velocity, and it's relatively cold. This is not the type of weather to inspire thoughts of cruising in Paradise! We sit tight another day and find the local Catholic church. Sr. Bernice gives us a ride to St. Michael's, which is very small and simply furnished, but whose walls reverberate with music. We, apart from the priest, are the only white faces. Afterwards, we stroll back to the marina and encounter the biggest ficus tree we've ever seen. 
At home, our potted ficus houseplants barely clung to life, dropped many leaves, and never grew above 4 feet tall. This Bahamas ficus, which we believe to be of the same species, is like an oak! The Swiss Family Robinson could have built their home here and still had room for neighbors.
Stateside, people who had been to the Bahamas told us that our draft of 6.5 feet was too much to carry through the Indian Cay channel, which has a controlling depth of 5 feet at low tide. We had been told that we'd have to head 20 miles north to Memory Rock, or even farther, to cross the deeper channel which lies there. However, when we ask locals, they tell us that boats drawing 7.0 feet routinely cross with a high tide. So, early on Monday, at the break of dawn, we head out in time to catch the high tide over the Indian Cay channel. Sure enough, the shallowest spot we see is 8 feet - way better than some spots in the ICW! 
Tuesday, we experience calm waters with an almost eerie haze; it feels like North Carolina waters brewing up a thunderstorm. We motor the entire way down the Little Abaco Island to Coopers Town. The weatherfax has been predicting a cold front for tomorrow, and we are casting around for an anchorage with protection from the northwest, where the strongest winds will be. It has been a long day, and we feel that Green Turtle Cay, which has all-around protection, is too far to go this day, so we drop our anchor at Coopers Town, thinking that we can make the marina at Spanish Cay in the morning before the front hits. Coopers Town is a small settlement, and, even though there is no natural harbor, most of the locals still make their livelihood from the sea, catching fish, lobster, and conch. The town was hit by Hurricane Michelle, but many houses looked freshly painted in pink and yellow. We row to shore, and watch fish being cleaned right on the beach. We wander around, looking for a restaurant so that we can sample our first "Bahamian food." We eat at M&Ms, which turns out to be very authentic. (As we wait, we get to watch the conch for the conch burger being pounded.) We are the only tourists around.
Wednesday, as expected the wind increases from the southwest. For now we're still sheltered by Coopers Town, but when the front passes, we will be on a lee shore. We pick up our anchor at 9am and head for Spanish Cay - only about 10 miles away. We are nearly there when we are beseiged by 20 knot northwesterlies. Within minutes, it is too rough to attempt going into the marina, so we're caught! We have no option but to head back to Coopers Town, which still offers protection from a west wind. We anchor in very close to the shore, and are comfortable for the moment. However, like a sword hanging over us, we know that the wind will clock around, and, when that happens, Coopers Town will become a dangerous lee shore, exposed to wind and waves. We anticipate, with distaste, a midnight run down to Manjack Cay (which is open to the west and northwest, but protected from the north through east to southeast) when Coopers Town becomes untenable, so we make our "get out of Coopers Town" preparations and wait. Who should happen along but Carioca?! They left West End a day after us and have had a rough trip. They decide to wait as well at Coopers Town since they are in the same pickle.
Soon enough, around 4:30pm (at least it's not midnight!), the wind has swung to 310 degrees (magnetic) and we're burying our bow in the oncoming waves. Coopers Town no longer offers any protection; it's time to move. Note: If you're heading to the Bahamas, Coopers Town and Manjack are nearly complementary anchorages. Soon we are slip-sliding before 30 knots of wind to Manjack Cay.
We get to Manjack about an hour later, and none too soon, as the sun is setting. Our primary anchor (a CQR) will not set for some reason, probably because it's too dark to find a patch of sand to drop it in. Just as the sun ducks below the horizon,and we are about to try to deploy our secondary anchor (a Bruce), some friendly folks (Bill and Leslie) come out from their house on a trawler and point out their 1000# mooring and offer its use. They point out the buoy, but we still have trouble seeing it - the float looks like a wayward child's ball, camouflaged to match the color of the water. We gratefully pick up the wee little float and find a massive (1") line attached to it. What relief - we're here. In the morning, Bill and Leslie's guests greet us with two bags of succulent, sweet grapefruit (we give one to Carioca and invite us to use their private beach and "nature trail."
Manjack Cay is very beautiful. The folks here are building a homestead, and have labored for 7 years to get as far as they have. The house is not yet completed, but the gardens are beautiful -- flowers, fruit trees, vegetables, and trails. We try to repay some of their kindness with a tray of freshly baked scones, and then take the trail to the beach - a 20 minute hike through unsurpassed natural beauty. Flowers and birds abound, and, soon enough, we're on a pristine, white beach, with a coral reef about a mile out to break up the ocean's swell. The water is turquoise, and there is no one else around. Kristina and Luke have really taken to Jack and Julie, and we walk for more than an hour collecting an assortment of objects: a purple sea fan, a nice anchor buoy, 4 fresh coconuts, brain coral (dead, of course), and shells galore.
We lug all this stuff back to Canto with us, and Adrian machetes a hole in one of the coconuts, adds some rum ("you put da rum in da coconut and drink it all up"), and head over to Carioca for dinner. Jack and Julie have barbequed ribs (they have a deep freezer onboard); Julie and Adrian drink the rum coconut (it's very good, but Angie doesn't care for it much, and Jack doesn't drink), and we have a marvelous time. Incidently, hacking holes in coconuts is a very messy business, and is best done on the beach.
The Bahamas Incessant Wind Ensemble is preparing up for another crescendo. Manjack Cay is open from southwest through west to northwest, so we decide to leave for more protected water. White Sound in Green Turtle Cay promises 360 degree protection with reasonable holding ground. Early on Friday, we raise our sails and fly over to Green Turtle Cay in freshening winds.We thread our way through the narrow channel and carefully anchor in White Sound, then pop into the dinghy and head into New Plymouth, located on the other side of the island.
New Plymouth is a picturesque settlement on Green Turtle. The houses are brightly painted and well-kept, and the town has groceries, Internet access (at the one-room library), working(!) Batelco phones, and several restaurants (most are expensive - upwards of $25 per person). We do manage to find some spots we can afford (McIntosh's has good food for reasonable prices). One spot, the Wrecking Tree, is so named for the primary source of income for early Bahamians - that of salvaging the boats which used to wreck on the low-lying Bahamas Islands' coral reefs. Under this tree, the wreckers used to gather their salvage, which had to be sent to Nassau for public auction. The authorities would thus get their cut, and the wreckers would receive the rest of the proceeds. Some of the roads are paved, but most are dirt with large potholes; this makes driving our rented golf carts a real off-road experience. We suppose some Yankees were reminded of the roads in their native country. Notice the I-95 sign?
The Incessant Wind Ensemble is playing frenetically, but we are snug in the anchorage. Saturday morning brings partly cloudy skies, a slowly falling barometer, and south winds of 25 to 30 knots. The local volunteer weatherman, "Barometer Bob," puts things in perspective with his saying, "It may be blowin', but at least it ain't snowin'." On the bright side, we are not at a lack for power; from the wind alone, we are receiving 10 to 15 amps of power through our wind generator. In fact, we are keeping our computer on and have turned down the fridge as a guard to overcharging our batteries. All the stuff in the bottom of our freezer, including the ground beef, is frozen solid, and the webpage is growing longer and longer!
On Monday, the front moves through. There's a 180 degree wind shift, and the wind builds to more than 30 knots. This is why boaters should never skimp on anchor gear! The strain is incredible; our rope snubber, attached to the chain to add some elasticity to the gear and to relieve the strain on our windlass, is stretched taught enough to be used as a violin string. During the night, it creaks and groans loudly. Our wind generator resembles a Cuisinart, and we have to tether it to prevent overcharging our batteries. The hems have blown out of our Bahamas courtesy flag and our good-quality American flag. Adrian stitches them back together, but it's hopeless.
After the front, the wind settles a bit, and we decide to move out of the anchorage to be in a position to tackle the next Bahamas hurdle - the pass known as "The Whale." Now that we are this far south, every morning we can catch the "Cruisers' Net" on the VHF radio. It's like a news hour for cuuisers, covering the weather, upcoming events, commercials, who's arriving and who's leaving, and the "Whale Report." If we had any thoughts of going through "The Whale" today, they are dispelled by an intrepid powerboater (on a 40-footer) who gave it a go in the morning, and his concise report was as follows:
I just did it. It was awful. I wouldn't recommend it for anyone, and don't ever want to do it again.There's something for us to look forward to, eh?
To get from Green Turtle to Marsh Harbor (the area known as the "Hub of the Abacos)," boats drawing over 2 feet must head out between reefs into the ocean and then back, between reefs, into the Sea of Abaco. This passage, known as "The Whale" can be dangerous due to ocean swells and breaking waves on the reefs. In the past, a freighter has been lost here, and Disney Cruise Lines cancelled its service here because of the unpredictability of the passage. Thursday, the winds are predicted locally to be 20 to 25, but we see only about 15 to 20, and NOAA predicts (via weatherfax) about 15. We listen to "The Net", and someone reports transiting the Whale in a 38 foot sailboat, from the south to the north, with swells of about 6 to 8 feet, but not breaking. "It's do-able." So, off we go. Going from north to south, the wind and waves are on our nose, and it's awful. We are slammed repeatedly by the 6 to 8 foot swells, and an especially large swell nearly breaks over us. It is worth noting that we feel the GPS waypoints in Steve Dodge's Bahamas Guide are too close to the west end of "The Whale" when transiting in rough weather. Canto makes slow progress, but does not fail us. Still, we resolve next time to await more favorable conditions.
Finally, we're out of the worst of it. On our new tack back into the Sea of Abaco, we can raise some sail and are soon moving well. We anchor in beautiful Baker's Bay and call it a day. We are now in the "Hub of the Abacos."
Baker's Bay is a nice spot in an easterly breeze. There's a beautiful beach, trails to walk, and old Disney ruins to explore. Years ago, Disney built "Treasure Island" (actually located on Great Guana Island) as a cruise ship stop, complete with windsurfing, snorkelling, bars, restaurant, trails, kayaks, and so forth. It was apparently quite a place, but has been ransacked since Disney abandoned it. Again, The Whale was so unpredictable and the channel was too difficult and expensive to maintain, so they walked away from it, leaving everything. Even Disney can't always control Mother Nature.
We also visit Settlement Harbour on Great Guana Cay. The restaurant, Nipper's, does a tremendous job selling itself, especially for the Sunday pig roast. We eat lunch there on Saturday, but the food is poor (bugs in the salad, yuck) and it's awfully loud; we don't care to hang out at their salt-water pool and drink expensive rum punch. For Sunday, we stop there briefly to observe the pig roast (we bring a bag lunch) but spend the rest of the day at the Dolphin Beach Resort, with a fresh water pool, beautiful beach, and lounge area. We have made dinner reservations at the Mermaid Cafe, and our dinner (fresh lobster, fresh grouper, fried chicken, and Caeser salad) is delicious; by far the best food and service we have in the Abacos!
We're off to Treasure Cay, again with 360 protection, and meet up with Lynne and Joe on Sunshine, who promptly introduce us to David and Kerri on Tamara. David and Kerri are expert spearfishers, and we are assured that they know where to get fresh lobster. We also meet up with El Rio, with two children aboard, and explore the 3 mile crescent-shaped beach, proclaimed one of the best in the world. We make use of the local marina's pool and showers, and discover the weekly "pizza night" at the Tipsy Seagull Bar. The weather is beautiful, and we do our first laundry aboard Canto, since the laundromat is somewhat expensive.
After a few days, we follow Tamara to one of their lobster locations. Sure enough, we have lobster linguine for dinner! Kristina and Luke also take their first real snorkelling trip on an "artificial reef." As it happens, about a decade ago, a movie, "The Day of the Dolphin" was filmed here, and part of the set still remains on an otherwise deserted island. We think some surplus vehicles were also abandoned here in about 15 feet of water. So much for environmental consciousness! Nevertheless, these make a perfect place to see a wide variety of colorful reef fish, and Kristina and Luke are like fish themselves!
We continue our snorkelling adventures with more challenging dives. Since the weather is now so calm, we visit Fowl Cay, which is a reef preserve where no spearfishing is allowed. These reefs are in the ocean, and diving here is strictly for settled weather. Since the ocean is still a bit on the cool side, Kerri lets Krisina and Luke use part of her extra wet suit, and Angie squeezes into one we have aboard. We leave our big boats anchored on the non-ocean side, and take our dinghies through the passage out to the ocean side, where the non-profit "Protect the Reef Foundation" has installed mooring buoys. There is some ocean swell, but the underwater sights and sounds are incredible: sea turtles, masses of purple sea fans swaying to and fro, huge coral heads, impossibly colored parrotfish taking bites of the coral and then loudly grinding the chunks.
Kristina and Angie are buddies, and swim off together. They hover over a spot, and, right before their eyes, witness a barracuda move in and cut another fish in half. Guess it's lunchtime. Thinking it best to give this 4' long predator some room, we back away, only to be followed VERY closely. It's disconcerting, to say the least. Everyone says, "Don't worry, they're not interested in you," but when you have this creature with big teeth only two feet away and following you, it's difficult to stay unmoved. Angie sends Kristina toward the dinghy and keeps her flippers between body and barracuda, meanwhile wondering if her "Yum-Yum Yellow" diving gloves are too delicious looking. After about 50 yards of eternity, the fish swims back, and Kristina and Angie collectively catch their breath. Kristina manages a joke, calling this barracuda "Barry," and telling David that it really should have been after _him_, since _he_ had caught its cousin earlier that day. Indeed, David had caught a barracuda on a trolling line, and we were all very impressed with its sharp teeth.
After a night at Fowl Cay, we head for Hope Town, home of the famous candy-striped lighthouse. Hope Town was founded by a widow, Wyannie Malone, who moved here from Charleston. We missed the museum about her, so we don't know if she came for adventure, or to make her fortune, or for escape?? For many years, one of the primary occupations of the townspeople was that of "wrecking," or salvaging goods from ships that had hit reefs and washed ashore. Sadly, some of the ships were lured in by false lights, similar to what was done on North Carolina's Outer Banks. The practice of wrecking was so established and so integral to the local economy that, in Hope Town, even in the 1800's, England's efforts to erect the Hope Town lighthouse were frequently sabotaged. Construction workers had to be imported, as the locals refused to build the lighthouse. Furthermore, the locals refused to feed or house the workers, and even sunk an incoming barge of material. Now, the lighthouse is a frequently visited tourist attraction. The light is still powered by kerosene, and the mechanism must be wound by hand every two hours.
While in Hope Town, we climb up the lighthouse and drink in its wonderful view of the harbor and the Sea of Abaco. We also luck into one of Vernon's famous key lime pies (Vern is the local baker, and competition for his pies is stiff; Kristina and Angie snagged one only by serendipity). While beachcombing and snorkelling off the reef, we meet up with El Rio, who invite us back to their pool. After a happy time playing, we return to Canto to have a decadently unbalanced dinner of key lime pie. We're planning on racing in the Hope Town Regatta tomorrow, with Kerri and David as crew.
The next day, as it turns out, is heavily clouded, with gusty winds and light rain. We're cruisers at heart, so we skip the race and head for the heart of the "Hub of the Abacos," Marsh Harbour. We also want to get into Marsh before the next front, and figure that a lot of others are probably thinking the same. Sure enough, the anchorage is crowded, but we squeeze in. There's lots to do and we'll be here a couple days! A lecture series (called "WD-40 for the Brain") is held on Thursdays at the Marsh Harbor Marina; these are geared towards cruisers and the next presentation on "Coral Reefs" is right up our alley, since we are now studying "The Ocean." Kristina and Luke have assignments to listen and then write reports. There's even a lab in the afternoon - to actually dive the nearby reefs with the instructor!
While in Marsh Harbor, we get various boat chores done: regrease the windlass, jerry can diesel and water on board, haul our laundry to shore, get groceries. On Palm Sunday, we attend mass at St. Francis de Sales Church. The church/school bus is being repaired, but several parishioners transport the 20+ cruisers waiting by the dinghy docks to church. The priest, Fr. Stan, is wonderful. He seems very personable, and makes everyone feel welcome. There is a significant Haitian group here, and some of the liturgy is repeated in Haitian. The music is done by the "Creole Choir" and there's a definate beat to the music! Luke wants to know if this is really church!
We take a side trip to Lubber's Quarters, where Kerri has some long-time friends. The trip is an adventure. We see our shallowest water thus far near Witch's Point, even bumping bottom once. The water is so clear that Kristina and Luke count the sea stars on the way! At our destination, we set the anchor well since the wind is freshening, then we go ashore to visit Kerri's friends. This husband and wife (now with a one-year old) are Americans who bought some property and developed it. They bushwacked a road, built and landscaped two cottages, and dealt with the red tape and cost to connect to electricity, phone and water. Now they rent out the cottages and live Stateside. We admired their gumption and perserverance. It takes a lot of work to build up the infrastructure on these outer islands, especially when next season could bring an intense hurricane.
Back at Canto, we use our "look-bucket" to see how our anchor has set. Uh-oh. No wonder it is holding well - the anchor is gripping a thick black electrical cable, and we see many more cables criss-crossing the area. These weren't marked on the chart!! Well, the only way we'll drag anchor is if we break the cable, and then we'll know it because the surrounding houses will have a black-out. On board, during a routine engine check, Luke holds the flashlight. He shines it into the bilge, and comments, "Gee, Dad, that's a lot of water in the bilge." Now, it is normal to have some water in the very bottom of our bilge, so we casually look. Mouths agape, we see that it is WAY up, almost to the secondary bilge pump! Why hasn't the primary pump taken care of this? To our relief, the pump works, and quickly evacuates the water, and we don't find any catastrophic leaks. The float switch has gone bad, and, apparently, hasn't been working for some time. (In retrospect, we thought that the bilge pump had been unnaturally quiet!) Hooked to a huge electrical cable, tide-bound, with reefs around us and a rising wind, plus with our recent discoveries, we spend a dreadful night, eager to return to Marsh Harbor to do some repairs.
The next morning, we confirm that the water has come from a small but steady leak in the raw water pump (this cools our diesel engine), serious but not an emergency. Back at Marsh Harbor, we use the VHF to call around to the local stores for a new bilge pump switch. Most of the marine related stores (and these make up a large portion of the stores) monitor the VHF just like a telephone. We find a switch, albeit at 4x the regular Stateside price, but we count ourselves fortunate that it is IN STOCK. We have everything else to make the repair aboard. The raw water pump is a different matter. We don't have a rebuild kit; it was on our spare-parts-to-get list, but we didn't actually buy it because it was quite expensive and we thought if we ever needed one, we'd get it then. Ha. If we try to get it here, it'll be 4x as expensive and who knows how long we'll have to wait? We try the "Cruiser's Net," but no one has the rebuild kit for our particular pump. Since we need to return to the States very soon anyway, we decide to keep a close eye on our water pump and repair it Stateside. To that end, we email our friend, Chuck, in NC, and ask for help in locating the part so that we can have it as soon as we get to Florida. Chuck is great. After several emails, he lets us know that the part is available overnight in Ft. Pierce, FL, so that will be our first U.S. destination.
Easter Sunday is a wonderful day. We again go to St. Francis de Sales. This time there are 40-50 cruisers waiting, so it is a very good thing that a borrowed school bus is available for transportation. The Creole Choir is in full swing, and sets the congregation to toe-tapping, hand-clapping and swaying in the aisles. It is also Fr. Stan's last week here, and it is obvious that, after 11 years, he is an integral part of the community and he will be missed. This week he also celebrates his 34th anniversary of ordination. During the sermon, he tackles head on some of the recent Church controversy, and reminds us that we should stand with the Catholic priests and not condemn all because of a few. It is a moving liturgy.
Later that day, we have a farewell dinner with Sunshine and Tamara. We're planning to leave soon, perhaps after some more snorkelling. Lobster season is now closed, but there are plenty of fish around. . .
On Monday, April 1, after listening to the weather, we decide that TODAY is the day to go. Tamara doesn't believe us: "This is an April Fools joke, right?" With sad, sad "see-you-laters" to Tamara and Sunshine, we pull out of Marsh Harbor. Over the next two days, we retrace our path back to Great Sale Cay, from where we plan to head directly to the U.S. We are able to meet Carioca here. We haven't seen Jack and Julie for quite some time, since they've had guests and have stayed in Grand Bahama Island, so we are very happy to get together with them for dinner on Tuesday. Unfortunately, our weather window is closing rapidly, and we begin to realize that we will be spending several days here. Great Sale Cay is completely deserted; there is _nothing_ ashore except some ruins. What are we going to do if we have to stay for a week?
The next day we go fishing (yes, we catch dinner) and explore the beach, and put out a call on the VHF, "Any boats in the Great Sale Cay anchorage interested in a "happy hour," come over to Canto." For the next five nights, we rotate potluck dinners on various boats. This is the epitome of cruising. We meet wonderful folks: a family from France, a couple from England, a singlehander from DC, and several others. As the weather deteriorates, we all keep an eye out for each other, staving off cabin fever with wet dinghy rides to the island for exploration, afternoon movies, and nightly get-togethers. Kristina makes a new friend, Lola, with whom she shares American Girl dolls, Harry Potter books, Beanie Babies, and an enjoyment of chess. They want to dress alike and be twins!
As much fun as we're having, we're putting a serious dent in our remaining food stores, we're beginning to dream of fresh fruit and, even though Julie offers to do a quick study on birthing babies aboard boats, Angie would prefer a hospital setting. As the weather improves, boats begin to leave, and we, with another few boats, finally see our chance to cross the Gulf Stream. A day and night later, we're running the inlet to Ft. Pierce, FL.