A Sail of Two Idiots (14 page)

So this time I had
two
guys yelling at me, pointing madly at where they wanted me to go, not realizing that, as much as I wanted to go there too, the boat couldn't. I thought that if I could go perpendicular to the current and gun the engine, the strength of the current would counter the turn that the boat wanted to take, thus allowing us to go in a straight line. If it worked, it would put us on a direct path for Robbie and the mooring. If it didn't, I would go below to suck my thumb.

It worked! It was sort of accidental but a great learning opportunity. I was really getting a feel for how the boat operated, both on one engine and two. Very satisfying. Even more satisfying was having Robbie help us tie off to a good-size mooring for the duration. As the night wore on, the wind got worse and the waves started coming over the boat's topside. We were incredibly thankful for Robbie's help and the mooring. It was an active night on the VHF. Go Robbie Go!

With a slight gap between weather fronts, it was imperative that we take another break. Specifically, a break from Green Turtle. Five of us took off in Robbie's supercharged dinghy and headed 3½ miles directly west across to Treasure Cay (a passage too shallow to sail). It was a cold, wet ride across the Sea of Abaco, but the dinghy was rigged with a little plastic cover that
almost
kept us dry and out of the wind. Shall I say that we were quite glad to arrive at our destination? I shall.

We then rented a minivan and drove to Marsh Harbour. Not exactly a pretty place, but that's where everyone in the northern Abacos goes shopping. Marsh Harbour has a safe anchorage as well, but getting there from Green Turtle was not easy. More on that later.

First up, Robbie brought us to a welder so we could get our alternator bracket fixed. What would normally take days (on island time) took only six hours because Robbie was a friend of the welder. We also had an extra bracket fabricated. We were fast learners (LESSON 16A, You can never have enough spares).

Then we hopped from store to store and bought groceries (LESSON 17, You cannot have too much stuff!). We also got more pills from the pharmacy for Shaka (LESSON 29, Need Drugs? Stock Up!). Everyone was blissfully replenished and wondering how we would fit all of us and our stuff in Robbie's dinghy when we were offered a ride back to Green Turtle by someone with a bigger motorboat. A much bigger motorboat. Yes, please! Nothing personal, Robbie.

Once back (some of us drier than others), we installed our new alternator bracket and were happily back on two engines. We also re-anchored (the mooring turned out not to be free). Robbie and another new pal helped, although even they argued between themselves about the best way to do it. We were back to one anchor again, but this time we fed the chain out more slowly and then let the anchor settle in a bit longer before putting our engines in reverse (and revving them higher) to ensure that it was dug in. We would have dived on it, too, but the water was really cold.

The next thing we knew it was Thanksgiving in the Bahamas. We joined a potluck held at a nearby yacht club. While everyone was cooking, Robbie put an amplifier on his dinghy (he's got everything on that little boat) and blasted reggae through this system so we could tune into a radio channel on our big boats and jam. Ya mon.

Some people ate meat, some didn't eat
red
meat, some ate only fish, some were vegetarians like we were, and one person couldn't eat wheat. But the food was yummy and filling anyway! We ate. We drank. We had the perfect Thanksgiving with new friends.

Although we were bonding with the Green Turtle yachties, we weren't learning how to sail. The weather was terrible. By now, it had been a little more than two weeks since our arrival (I know, it seems longer, doesn't it?). Not knowing how long it would take us to sail to other places, and tired of freezing our patooties off, we wanted to get moving again.

But heading south from Green Turtle Cay meant going through one of the toughest spots in the Bahamas. No wonder half the boats in the harbor never went any farther. You either go through Whale Cay Passage (The Whale) out into the ocean for a little bit (where there are waves and submerged poles from a defunct cruise-ship path), or you go on the inside, through the shallow Don't Rock Passage (part of the Sea of Abaco), where there is a lot of shifting sand (so charts and prior trips through it are not a guarantee of anything).

Usually if one route is bad, you don't do either one. If it's rough in the ocean, it's not a good idea to go through the somewhat calmer Don't Rock Passage due to poor visibility. If you pick the wrong day to go through The Whale, you will encounter a “rage,” which is not a good thing. A rage sea is when the deep waters on the ocean side are churned up from a weather front or other nastiness (bringing usually easterly winds). The high seas break through this narrow cut between two small islands and enter shallower waters. It gets bottled up, which creates even higher waves that curl and smash whatever's in their way. There can also be shallow shoals (reefs) inside the cut, invisible due to the big gnarly waves crashing over them. Whitecaps will be everywhere. Which of the angry, bubbling waves are breaking over a reef and which are not? Who knows? Can you see where this is going?

After finding out about yet another impending weather front (meaning more freezing temperatures—no more winters in the Bahamas for us!), we and three other boats (all monohulls) decided to make a run for it.

Because of a big going-away party the night before, which seemed like a good idea at the time, we were feeling pretty tired and hung over the morning of departure (mistake number one).

The morning was blustery and overcast. The “buddy boats” got a head start on us because we decided at the last minute to fill our water tanks at the dock. The wind was coming right at us and the tide was going out away from the dock, so tying up was not easy. This is where the adage “Don't go faster than you want to hit the dock” comes into play. We added only one little chink in the boat; that's what the bumper is for, right? Michael didn't need that finger anyway. Who knew he had such a potty mouth?

We were still at the dock when one of the captains radioed that he had decided against trying Don't Rock Passage because the bottom was unreadable (this should have been our first clue to stay put). That shallow route would be dicey for a catamaran, but his monohull's deeper draft would make it even more so for him. He and the others would head into the ocean via The Whale. So we decided to do the same and left Green Turtle's harbor about an hour behind everyone else.

With winds at 25 knots and gusting to 35, we put the sails up (without reefs in the sails to make them smaller—mistake number two for the day) and were moving at about 9 knots. We were initially stoked about the speed, but I could see that there was a lot of pressure on the mainsail's sheet blocks (a kind of pulley system designed to make it easier to bring in and let out the mainsail). I asked Michael to let out some line (lines or ropes that trim sails are called sheets, but I like
line
better), and he told me that the line I was pointing to was the line used to drop or raise the sail from or to the top of the mast. (That one is called a halyard.) Huh? I thought that was in the front—we'd just raised the sail that way, didn't we? I was still insecure about it all, and he was too, so I didn't push it.

Think about it. We had sailed a total of two times (ever), neither time in these kinds of conditions, so we were clueless. The books we had on board weren't helping because they didn't reflect our rigging setup. All I knew was that there was way too much pressure on the rigging and something needed to be done.

The genny (front sail, aka jib or genoa) wasn't looking too good either. The furler (which extends from the bow of the boat to the masthead and holds the genny taut) was curved like a bow. Picture a boomerang here. Not good.

First things first. I told Michael to let out the mainsheet anyway to see what would happen, but he wouldn't do it (apparently nobody had told him about the only one captain rule, LESSON 27). We were literally fighting over the rope when we were suddenly almost blinded by flying debris.

Well, that shut us up.

One of the blocks (pulleys) holding the mainsheet had exploded, sending metal ball bearings and plastic pieces whizzing past our faces. At first, we had no idea what had happened. Did somebody shoot at us?! A New Yorker's instinctive reaction, I guess.

Still not knowing what happened, I turned us out of the wind that had been picking up the whole time. It was about a steady 35 knots at this point (a pleasant sail for us was 13- to 20-knot winds). I ran between the sails to help Michael get them down and then back to the wheel to keep us away from a nearby island. After analyzing the debris field, we traced the problem and realized that we had really screwed up.

Now this is where we should have turned around (mistake number three). We didn't because we felt pressured to catch up with the others. What if they were waiting for us? We couldn't reach them via VHF and didn't want them to worry about us.

We figured that if the other three boats made it out, how bad could it be? We'd just motor. We thought we'd be in better control with just the engines on anyway (mistake number four).

So we headed for the Whale Cut, got between the two islands, and were just about past the shoals off Whale Cay when a huge wave broke over the top of us. We looked
up
at it before it hit us.
We looked up
! It was so powerful that it broke open one of the locked hatches, sending seawater gushing into the cabin below.

Did I mention that it started pouring rain around this time? I couldn't see a thing (I later learned—in spite of laughing at the suggestion—that snorkel gear would have helped here.)

Michael was trying to fasten the plastic wind/rain screen on the bimini (canvas cockpit cover) so we could protect ourselves, but he was getting thrown all over the place. I looked past him and screamed over the roar of the water for him to brace himself because I knew we were going to be slammed by another wave. Yet another window was forced open, this time in the galley.

After that one, I dragged Michael behind me and told him I was going to turn around. We didn't have strong enough engines to push us past the breaking waves. Smoke was actually coming out of the engines from the strain.

Plus, all we could see for miles ahead of us were churning white seas. Turning around was the first smart thing we did all day. Actually, filling the water tanks had been the smartest thing. They made us heavier and kept us from being flipped. Yes, it was that bad.

I waited for the next lull between waves and then started to turn the boat around. I had to catch a wave just right so we wouldn't be broadsided. I was terrified. We were so lucky (and it
was
luck) to hit the wave just right, and we surfed down the other side back toward safety. Before we could even breathe a sigh of relief, though, I looked to our port side and realized that we were incredibly close to the shoals. I had been so worried about all the other stuff, I had completely forgotten about them. Michael was literally frozen in place gripping the wheel with me, both of us white-knuckled. Whether we hit the shoals or not would depend on how the next wave hit us. Steerage was pretty much out.

This is where scenes go into slow motion in the movies. Here comes the next monster wave; the wide-eyed crew holds their breath; the boat goes up … up … up … and then slides down … down … down … and . .?