Who Are These People?!

You definitely meet an eclectic group of folks who have decided that voyaging in sailboats is their thing.

At least here in the Bahamas, if I had to generalize or market to this group I'd say the demographic reads something like this: Married couple mid-60s. There's at least an even chance there was an early retirement involved. He worked in a technical field, perhaps engineering, where he made a pretty good living. She also worked. Probably it was his dream, at least initially, but she's come around to the idea, although it may have taken a bit of time to get there. Many couples -- and it's a married male-female couple 85 percent of the time -- have been doing the Bahamas circuit for several years. They are retracing old routes and have plans to go to x cay and z harbor they've never gotten down to before now. Everyone professes to be on a tight budget, but it's clear that these folks have a different definition of "tight" than we do. They aren't worried. 

Their boat? A fairly modern fin-keeler with lots of space and good working systems -- say, a post 2000 Beneteau of about 40 to 42'. There are a few with older boats, such as ours, in this demographic and some budgets that are fairly tight, but these folks seem to be less common.

We are wedged into an odd place on the cruising spectrum. People tend to be either retired or fairly young. The younger crowd are, as you might imagine, less conservative, more willing to take chances and go with boats that are less well kitted out. Often it's two guy friends. Their boats are smaller and older. They stay up late and miss Chris Parker's shortwave broadcast (if indeed, they even know it exists). By contrast, the typical demographic noted above tends to listen to that forecast religiously. These folks are looking for the perfect (no drama) passage and won't leave the dock or the anchorage until they get it. It's a science for them.

The irony is that despite the influence of the now-octogenarian Lin and Larry Pardy to "go simple, go small, go now" it is the younger cruisers, if anyone, who have taken that advice to heart. The "typical" (older) demographic have gone mostly complicated, big, and later (i.e., after retirement).

The younger cruisers' boat might be a Morgan 30 or something of unusual vintage. A dog's breakfast of older systems that may or may not be operating. The engine "works fine" but is troublesome.

There are also a few single-handers, but very few in my estimation. Interesting, a fairly even split between men and women. They tend to be a bit younger than the typical demographic -- maybe mid-50s, although we are talking about such a small group that it's hard to get an accurate read. Sailing is hard work, and it's a lot for one person to handle.

We fall awkwardly in the middle of all this. We are certainly not in the "young cruiser" crowd, and not in the retired group, either. Of course, Noi is younger than I am, which throws the calculus off a bit. But, like the young guns, our boat is older, our budget is tighter and our systems are not quite as complex, and not all in the best of shape. But, we tend to identify with the other end when it comes to sailing conservatively.

I'd say there's roughly a 50-50 mix of dog and cat people.

Since Noi and I are waiting for weather at Grand Bahamas Yacht Club along with several other cruisers, we decided to have an impromptu pot luck last night. Perhaps it wasn't representative of the folks "who go down to the sea in small boats," but it's a glimpse:

At the table were Noel and Suki, who own a Hans Christian 38 -- similar in appearance and displacement to our boat (people often confuse the two). As an aside, we met Noel and Suki on the dock a few days ago and I remember remarking to Noi that they reminded me of a couple we had met several years ago on a sailing trip to Newport, R.I. Even the boat was similar, but not exactly the same. Talking to Noel later, something he said sparked an epiphany that it was indeed the very same couple. Apparently, the two of them were head-scratching toward the same realization. Their boat had been repainted green and renamed.

Noel and Suki are about our age and live in Malaysia now. Noel works in the petroleum industry.

Then there's Thomas and Patty, formerly Canadaians who are now U.S. citizens. They live in Titusville, Fla. Retired. I gather that he was an engineer. It is their seventh cruise in the Bahamas. They own a newer Bristol of about 40'. 

Jeb and Greg, Australian friends are aboard a German-made boat called a Neptune, 31' if I recall. It's the same vintage as ours (1978). Jeb bought it in Florida and the two of them are on an open-ended itinerary and seem to be deciding how to do as they go along. Good on 'em.

A Rant About Electronics

Cruising is a whole lot easier with modern electronics. No doubt about that.

In fact, I think it's fair to say that the whole cruising phenomenon is a result of the electronics revolution -- GPS in particular. There were a whole lot fewer fearless sailors out there when a chart and sextant were the navigational standbys.

But, electronics can go bad. Salt water and carefully corralled electrons are not a good mix. I have met several sailors who simply don't believe that's true, but I for one have witnessed it first hand on more than one occasion.

That hasn't put me off the gizmos, it's simply made me more circumspect. When I can have at hand a low-tech alternative to high-tech wizardry, I do. We always keep paper charts and a good visual so that we know where we are in case the chartplotter decides to quit. Symbiosis has a sextant aboard (and I have at least a modicum of skill at it). We have a mechanical speed log (also good for comparing to the GPS "speed over ground" to get an idea for current). There's a lead line stowed below in case the depth sounder goes dead. You get the idea.

Even so, it's easy to become reliant on complex systems. And it can be difficult to make a seemless transition from one method to another.

One thing I also tried to avoid on Symbiosis is integrated electronics systems. This is all the rage on the "modern" yacht. The wind speed indicator talks to the chartplotter, which talks to the autopilot, etc. In theory, it's a great idea; in practice, it can also be a great idea -- as long as everything is working. But if one system goes down, they can all go down. Not good.

The following is a cautionary tale:

Several weeks ago, my depth sounder started acting strangely. It began offshore in several thousand feet of water. The sounder would read 000. I wasn't too alarmed. In such deep water, it made sense to me that it wouldn't be getting a return signal from the bottom quickly enough to be recorded by the in-hull transducer. Besides, generally after you are out of shallow water, it's not all that important to keep tabs on this sort of thing. Running aground is the main concern, and although it can be useful to know the depth in deeper water for navigational purposes, it isn't all that critical. Even so, when we got nearer to shore (shallower water), the sounder began to display more odd readings. It would lock on an erroneous reading and stay there, only occasionally to switch to another erroneous reading. I did a bit of research and concluded it was probably a bad transducer. That was disappointing considering the unit was only a few years old. I looked up the manufacturer (Moor Electronics) only to discover that they'd gone out of business that very month!

I didn't want to pay for a whole new sounder, but I wasn't likely to find a new transducer for this one, either. I decided that the easiest solution was to hook a transducer to the Garmin chartplotter -- something I'd never done before because of my suspicion of integrated systems.

Although my chartplotter was purchased new in 2012, it was, of course, already considered something out of the pre-Cambrian. Finding a transducer took a bit of doing, but I was able to get one through West Marine. It proved a simple install and everything was working fine. I do admit that I got used to the convenience of being able to see the depth right there on the chartplotter without having to look away to another instrument.

When we left West End last week, as far as I knew our chartplotter was working just fine. The dead depth sounder sat there blankly, but it was no problem because I could see the depth on the Garmin now.

As we motored to Lucaya, the Garmin lost power. At first, I didn't think anything of it. I turned it back on, and after about a minute, it warmed up and returned to displaying our position. Then it turned off again. Restarted. This happened perhaps two dozen times over a 6-hour period. Sometimes it would stay on for 10 or 15 minutes, sometimes only for a minute or so. Probably a loose connection, but nothing I could really check on until I got in somewhere. In open water, this sort of failure is not so critical. Luckily, we had charts for the area and I pulled out a spare handheld GPS and kept close watch on our position while Noi steered. But I was concerned about the entrance to Bell Channel. It looked rather tricky on the chart, with a tight squeeze between some shallows right at the red and green markers. Getting into tight spots is where a chartplotter comes into its own. But I didn't know whether mine would be working.

Of course, just as I was entering the most critical part of the channel -- that very shallow part I mentioned -- the chartplotter quit, along with the depth reading that now was part of the same system. Worse, there was a strong following sea that made the entrance probably the most challenging I have had to make. I came in blind. No chartplotter and no depth sounder. I went in blind. We were lucky.

Had my old depth sounder been working, at least I'd have had that. Yet another system went down with the chartplotter, too. At the same time I bought the Garmin, I also bought a new VHF radio with AIS (Automatic Identification System), which uses a radio signal to show you other boats in your vicinity. So, that too was unusable, at least from the helm, because of the malfunctioning chartplotter.

So, I'm the one that has assiduously avoided integrated systems and I have inadvertently been sucked into the very problem I hoped to avoid!

New Year

Apologies for the overly morose post yesterday. Being 50 isn't so bad. In fact, it's a lot like 49.

We spent a pleasant New Year's with cruising friends Bob and Kathy, who own a 42' Beneteau, Yankee Girl III. It got mentioned in passing a day or two ago that New Year's Eve was my birthday, so they had the staff at a restaurant we were at do the ceremony, complete with (agave?) pie and a candle. Nice.

Bob and Kathy left this morning along with a gaggle of cruisers who had been waiting for several weeks for a good weather window. I am having second thoughts about not shoving off along with the rest of the pack heading toward the Berry Islands and/or on to Nassau en route to the Exumas.

Sure, today would have been a long one of motoring, but the conditions are benign and we could have banked our southing and then moved on toward Nassau tomorrow.

Instead, we decided to relax a bit and enjoy Junkanoo, the Bahamian New Year's festival. But that means we will wait another several days before the next possible weather window -- which is currently on the edge of the forecast radius and therefore no guarantees.

Just Another Trip Around The Sun

It used to be that when people learned my birthday was on New Year's Eve, they'd say "Boy, you're going to have a real blow out for the millennium, aren't you?" In reality, I fell asleep at 10:30 p.m. on the couch in my Brooklyn apartment on December 31, 1999.

The truth is that I've always felt that my birthday was an annual sacrifice to the cacophonous crowds of revelers. Even trying to celebrate my day seemed pointless. Better to ignore it -- which is what I've done for many years now. So, instead of taking time to reflect on that day, each year I just let it pass more or less like all the rest.

Today however, I turn 50. And I am finally doing what I have aimed to do for so long. I suppose that warrants circumspection.

On the plus side, I am traveling again, something I've missed since my return from Asia in 2007. And I am doing it under my own power, so to speak. There is something purposive about it and it gives me a tremendous sense of satisfaction, despite the challenges. My career gave me a sense of purpose, but frankly I have felt rudderless in it of late. I needed to escape, even if it is a temporary flight. On the other hand, I am unemployed for the first time since I was 16. That is a weird feeling and has produced moments of ennui and occasionally, something not far off of sheer panic.

Let's face it. At age 50, the most I can reasonably expect is another 20 years of decent health. If I'm lucky, it might be a few more. Then again, there are certainly no guarantees of even that much. As Bob Dylan said, "it ain't dark yet, but it's getting there." That's why I've chosen to hollow out this time in my life; to cut through the dream and let it close in the wake behind me. Tomorrow could be too late.

Sometimes I wonder if I am being selfish in this pursuit. It was never Noi's ambition and if she'd not met me, she'd no doubt be something completely different. She's a bit younger than me, though (well OK, more than a bit!) and there's still time to do her thing.

And I'll be there for her, too, as long as I'm able.

Happy New Year!

Rats! ... And Other Shipboard Plagues

Rat guard on a dock line in Lucaya

It's not something we generally bring up over gin and tonics with the cruising crowd, but we have had our share of infestations aboard. We probably should be quarantined.

The latest (possible) vermin to attack is the Big One -- it starts with an r. On our last day at West End, I noticed some telltale black traces on the navigation table indicating that we'd had a nocturnal visitor of the mammalian order rodentia.

I had read on an online cruising guide (Active Captain) of another cruiser who had picked up rats at Old Bahamia Bay Marina, where we were staying (a very nice and well-kept facility, btw). At the time, I didn't think much of it. Now I was worried. If the intruder (or intruders) had simply come aboard and left before daybreak, that was one thing; if he or she (or they) are now permanent residents aboard, that is quite another matter.

So far, there's no indication that we have rats aboard. However, I did notice at our latest marina (Grand Bahama Yacht Club in Lucaya) that at least one of the boats has rat guards on the dock lines. Hmmm.

In any case, rats are not our first infestation, nor anything close to the most persistent (as yet, anyway -- and let's hope!). We've been battling ants since the Chesapeake. Traps, tumeric (an old trick I learned in India), etc., nothing seems to work against them. Also, fruit flies on occasion. And since Florida, the noseeums (midges) are a nightly problem, not to mention mosquitoes. The latter two we are getting better at fighting. We have a special screen to keep out the noseeums (or "museums" as Noi calls them). The conventional mosquito repellents do nothing against them, though. The only thing that seems to sort-of work is Avon's Skin So Soft. My hypothesis is that the critters can't get their biting proboscis through the thick oil, but others say there's a chemical in it that is the real active ingredient. Skin So Soft for mosquitoes is something that I first learned from my Vietnam-veteran platoon sargent Gary Horseman back when I was a very green lieutenant in the National Guard. How do you get Avon products in the Bahamas? I don't have a clue. Some of the tiki bars have a bottle for patron use, but nobody seems to know where it comes from. Odd, that. And, regular baby oil (at $8 for a tiny bottle!) just doesn't cut it. 

For the flying insects I've contemplated catching a few geckos and putting them aboard. The geckos always did a great job catching the mosquitoes when I lived in India.

Any ideas would be most welcome.

Lucaya

Just a quick note to let everyone know we've arrived in Lucaya at a lovely little spot called the Grand Bahama Yacht Club.

It was a 7-hour slog motoring to windward in choppy seas to get here, but I think it was worth getting "around the bend" on Grand Bahama so as to be better positioned to take advantage of the next good weather window for crossing to the Berry Islands. Noi did great on the helm and despite threats to get sea sick, didn't.

Lots of cruisers doing the same waiting game here.

Boat Swept Out To Sea At West End

S/V Dagny in Florida

When we arrived at the Old Bahama Bay Marina on Christmas Eve, we noticed a small inflatable with a 2.5 hp outboard tied to the bulkhead next to us. At first, we didn't give it any mind (why would we?), but after a day or so of it apparently not moving we began to speculate. At first we thought it was from a sailboat that had come into the turning basin to clear customs and promptly departed without staying at the marina. But, that couldn't be, because that boat was long gone now. Mostly, we just thought the owner must feel incredibly confident that the dinghy was secure in the marina and that seemed to be a good sign for security here, over all.

Yesterday, we discovered the sinister truth. As we were on the main road near West End waiting for our conch salad, a van pulled up alongside and a Bahamanian man asked if we were the owners of "that double-ender in the marina." We answered in the affirmative and when we looked inside the vehicle, there was a European man in the passenger seat who introduced himself as Gil.

It turns out that Gil, who owns a 26' Morris Frances -- also a double-ender -- had arrived at West End the day before us. He is a single-hander and was apparently quite exhausted after a long ordeal at sea. He couldn't start his engine and tried unsuccessfully to sail into the narrow marina channel before giving up on that idea and deciding to anchor just outside and dinghy in to clear customs and immigration.

You can read about all this on his blog, but the upshot is that after he'd been ashore for a few hours his anchor dragged and his boat simply disappeared! I was horrified to hear this -- partly for Gil, of course, and partly because I know "there but for the grace of God ..." as they say. It could happen to anyone, really and it's a thought that will no doubt cause me many sleepless nights.

We gleaned a bit of the story during that chat on the road and have read the rest online. We of course promised to be on the lookout for the boat (S/V Dagny), but it's highly unlikely we would spot her on our current route. She has no doubt been swept into the Gulf Stream and drift analysis by Chris Parker puts her somewhere off the coast of St. Augustine, Fl., at least as of yesterday.

Gil -- a Frenchman who has been living in the U.S. for the past two decades -- has nothing. It was all on the boat, save his dinghy/outboard, laptop and the clothes on his back. A local Bahamanian representative of BASRA is helping him with arrangements, but that can't last forever. I emailed Gil and offered to let him stay with us, although we will be leaving soon. He is reluctantly accepting "loans" via Paypal and has put the dinghy up for sale.

Anyone reading this might consider a small donation to help out Gil. Details are on his blog.