A Sail of Two Idiots (16 page)

We ended up motorsailing to Man-O-War Cay the next day and anchored in hard coral outside the small, crowded harbor. Had we known it would be coral, we wouldn't have dropped there (we didn't want to kill the stuff), but the damage was done.

As we dinghied into the harbor, we were greeted by two dolphins that came close enough to touch. Being near enough to hear them blow through their airholes gave us both goose bumps. Oooh, I've got them again just writing about it.

The dolphins were the only life we saw. It was Sunday and there was not a soul to be found on the island. No people anywhere. There were signs all over the place about repenting and fearing the Lord and all that, and we felt as though we had just missed the Second Coming. No one singing in the churches. No one in the yards. Bikes sprawled against the curbs. It was weird. All kinds of movies went through our heads:
Children of the Corn, X-Files, The Rapture
.

Enough of that. We went back to our boat and were pleasantly surprised that it was still there! This would be our first night completely alone. No one else on board. No one else anchored nearby. Time for some 1970s karaoke!

The celebration was short-lived. We woke up in the morning to discover that
Jacumba
had moved, although the anchor had caught again and stopped our slide toward the rocks. Sigh.

Yet another cold front was on its way, so we needed to get to the safety of Marsh Harbour, 6 miles away to the southwest. We got up early and motorsailed over in waters that were almost glacier blue/gray. Coming up on the harbor, we were shocked to run into traffic. What was it—port to port? Red, right, returning? Thirty days hath September? The pressure!

We almost grounded ourselves when we missed the meaning of a red buoy that looked just like all the other navigational red buoys, but Brad was in the harbor and radioed us before we made fools of ourselves.

We had a hard time finding a spot to anchor because the place was so crowded, but we did what we could and hoped for the best.

While watching everyone prepare for the big weather event, it occurred to me that sailing is a lot like a prairie-dog colony. Everyone stays hunkered, popping their heads up at the first sign of good weather, and then jumping at the chance to move before hunkering down again.

We were glad we hadn't been on Green Turtle for
that
storm! It was blustery and rainy for an entire week. Marsh Harbour, with its fine, firm sand, is known for its suction-cup holding. We stayed put the entire time and didn't swing into anyone either. Yippee!

With the latest weather front behind us, we got to know Great Abaco Island and hung out with a lot of folks who had also made the break from Green Turtle. Thanks to our dinghy,
Spud
, we continued to meet lots of new yachties. Our new pals tried to fix the dinghy outboard for us, only to kill it completely (those experts again, LESSON 38), so luckily we were now in a place with a repair shop. After replacing a gasket, cleaning every part on the carburetor, and getting the water out of the fuel,
Spud
was no longer sputtering. Finally! But wait, how would we meet people now?

Not to worry, there are always other methods. With the house still not sold, money was getting
very
tight. The Bahamas was an expensive place to be, and when word got out that we were surviving on Oodles of Noodles (that stuff is cheap everywhere), boaters gave us cans of things they said they didn't want. Some even brought over leftovers. Wow, our pay-it-forward kitty was getting up there. I was looking forward to the days when we could help others. Although we were appreciative, it didn't feel good to be on the receiving end all the time.

Things were dire enough that I would have to go back to work (my earlier contract had expired). (See how important LESSON 11 is about not burning bridges?) My client came up with a month's worth of stuff for me to do, and I made plans to fly back in January. I have to admit, I was looking forward to it. I was surprisingly homesick.

By now it was almost Christmas. Cruisers were dinghy caroling and having potlucks. Locals engaged in junkanoos, where costumed leaders pound drums while festive followers dance spiritedly behind.

One night we were invited to a birthday party on someone's catamaran. We giggled when we saw all the dinghies tied up to the main boat; they looked like a bunch of piglets nursing from their sow. The birthday boy brought out a mandolin while another guest strummed his guitar and everyone sang along. It could not have been more perfect (well, warmer maybe).

My favorite day was experimenting with Brad's vacuum-like contraption that was designed to cut hair (called a Flowbee). It actually worked! Well, on men anyway. Nobody was coming near
me
what that thing. And people wondered what we did all day.

We couldn't forget that we were supposed to be learning to sail, so we lucked out when Stephen and Estelle (our Florida saviors) came down with their boat,
Siyaya
, prepared to do charters and teach sailing courses on their Island Spirit (just like ours only slightly bigger with more powerful engines). After hearing everything we'd been doing (wrong), they offered to take us on their boat with the other students whenever possible to join in exercises that included practicing with the engines (I was already a pro at this) and working on our tacking. We even crewed with them in a race (although I'm not sure it counted because the winds were 5 knots and we moved only because of the current). It was nice to get some guidance, though, and even a few pats on the back.

Estelle even showed me how to make bread (although my solo attempts never tasted as good). The 30 hours we spent with them sailing over about two months was invaluable and helped us gain more confidence.

Trying to get in as much practice as possible before I had to leave, we headed east for Hope Town on Elbow Cay, about 7 miles away. Although we had thought the worst of the weather had passed, we were walloped on our way there. Lots of rain and cold winds, so not a fun motorsail. By now I'd spent so much time in my yellow rain gear (if only to keep warm), people were telling me that they wouldn't recognize me without it.

Once in Hope Town, we had the choice of an empty anchorage just outside the harbor or mooring in the inner harbor with a hundred other boats. This was a no-brainer, despite our anchoring hardships. Once settled at anchor, we dinghied inside the harbor and saw what looked like a floating RV park. Yep, we had made the right call.

What a great island. Cute, colorful houses, gorgeous beaches, a working lighthouse to explore, and fun restaurants catering to all those moored boaters.

We were blissfully secluded and impressively well anchored—so dug in that we were reluctant to raise anchor again. You'll be surprised at how often you'll be loath to haul up an anchor that you know is set properly. We stayed for days.

A lack of food finally forced us to detach ourselves from the seabed and begrudgingly head back over to Marsh Harbour. But we were going just for the day and would be coming right back!

We needed the practice anyway and ended up having a fine sail. We food shopped and then wasted no time sailing back to Hope Town in an unexpected wing-and-wing configuration. Real sailors sometimes do this when running downwind (with the wind behind them). Despite knowing technically how to do it, conditions had to be just right, and we would never again be able to make it happen on purpose. We were always pleasantly surprised when the sails accidentally went into this formation. Never look a gift horse …

While on Elbow Cay, we had a record three days of sun and took full advantage of it. We rented bikes and went to Tahiti Beach to pick up sea glass, blew up our two inflatable kayaks and paddled up and down the coast, and sang karaoke by ourselves at night. We went ashore and enjoyed walking the beaches, playing Bingo at Jack's, and checking e-mails.

Imagine our elation when we learned that someone wanted to buy our house (again)! The timing could not have been better since I was going back to Arizona anyway for work. Of course, my Internet activity increased tenfold because I needed to deal with everything related to the sale. The only way I could pick up a free Internet signal was to sit on a bench near the harbor. I couldn't sit
near
the bench nor could I sit on the
left side
of the bench. I had to sit in one particular spot on the
right
side of the bench. I was there so often that I became known as the “bench girl.”

On Christmas Day we were warned to come inside the harbor and pick up a mooring because yet another cold front was coming. Well, okay … if we have to. It was a lot less windy in there, but that was bad because we needed wind for our wind generators. It's always something.

Once settled in, though, we couldn't help but get into the Christmas spirit. A large group of islanders held Mass and sang songs, and church bells rang all over the island. We felt as though we were in an episode of
Little House on the Prairie
, except that the characters were caroling with a Caribbean accent.

Two days was our limit, though, because we didn't like the close proximity of all the boats, not to mention the ferry wakes. Neighbors and ferry riders watched me in my pajamas walking around the boat holding up my laptop trying to get the signal of the wireless tower right next to our boat. Still no signal! It would be back to the bench for me and back out to a quiet anchorage for
Jacumba
.

First we had to get off our mooring. Michael dropped the mooring lines and I gunned the engines in reverse to get around the ball. The next thing we knew,
we were plowing backward into the mangroves. That was embarrassing. When I threw the throttles forward, we went flying to the left and were headed directly toward another boat. Aack! What in the world was going on?

Michael stared at me with wide questioning eyes, but I didn't know how to explain what was happening. Once I got some speed, all seemed fine, so I attributed it to stupidity and forgot about it.

Instead of anchoring outside again, we decided to sail back to Great Guana Cay just for the heck of it. We ended up sailing at a puny 4 knots, but we enjoyed having such a leisurely sail that we just relaxed for a change.

Once anchored, we took advantage of a warm front (warm!) and set out for a bar called Nippers. After two of their famous rum punches, we were blitzed. What do they put in those things? We had fun but were hung-over, so we stayed another day (remember LESSON 39 about drinking and driving?). We spent the next day wandering around and looking at the quaint houses. Definitely a nice place to visit.

New Year's Eve! Time for some fireworks and a trip back to Elbow Cay. Before we left Great Guana Cay, I asked Michael to stick his head under the boat to see if a fishing line or something else was tied around one of the propellers. The boat had acted weird again when we anchored and I was no longer sure that it was captain error. When he brought his dripping noggin back up, he said, “Nope, no fishing line.” Hrmph, it
was
me. “No propeller either.” What?! Apparently, our propeller had fallen off while we were on the mooring in Hope Town harbor. It wasn't me!! Yay! But we had no propeller! Boo! So, once again, we were on one engine.

After another great sail, we were back in Hope Town, our favorite Elbow Cay anchorage. Michael donned a diving suit (borrowed free of charge from Froggies) and snorkeled around our former mooring. Poor Mikey. With all those boats (and onshore businesses), the harbor wasn't exactly clean (no one seems to use their waste holding tanks). Gross. Worse, he didn't find the propeller.

We made a last attempt the next day when the water was a little calmer, this time with both of us in the dinghy. Michael was wearing a mask and a snorkel, his head in the water, butt in the air, while I steered the dinghy around. You
must
try to picture this. I can't imagine what people thought we were doing as we circled. Snorkeling without getting wet! No luck, though.

Put a new propeller on the list (about $250).

Oh, well, we tried. Now we could celebrate New Year's Eve. We rented bikes again, brought a cooler and blankets, and headed for Tahiti Beach. The fireworks were probably in our top five ever. Later we joined a junkanoo procession. Before the night was over, some of the guys, including Michael, ran into the ocean in their underwear. Good times!

It was now January 2007. Time to close on the house and earn a little cash to boot. That meant getting the boat back to the safety of Marsh Harbour (motorsailing back using the only engine with a propeller), where I'd leave Michael and Shaka to their own devices. Our house had sold for $25,000 less than the first offer back in November, so there was relief but no real celebration. We calculated that we now had enough funds for about 2½ years of sailing before we needed to work again. Still not bad.

In case you're wondering how we came up with this time frame and our earlier $50,000 per year calculation, we figured the following: Once we deducted our realtor commission and home loan payoff and paid off the boat down payment that was still on our credit cards, we'd have about $139,000. Boat payments and insurance would cost us about $18,000 per year. Figuring in boat parts (we had quite a need/wish list now), repairs, haulouts, fuel, food, and fun, we estimated that $50,000 a year was reasonable enough, especially if we anchored out (which is usually free), sailed (as opposed to motorsailed) as much as possible to save on fuel, and caught rainwater instead of buying water.