The List That Never Ends ...

Here's a list of things that needed to get done/redone from our last passage:

-- Diagnose/fix engine problem. (Done. It was in fact dirty fuel).

-- Rewire electric bilge pump. (Done. A wire chaffed through, causing a short).

-- Replace broken top batten in mainsail (found some suitable batten material. Will cut and place tomorrow).

-- Fix all water foot pumps and electric water pump. (Manual foot pumps all remounted so that hopefully they stay put this time. Bought used electric pump at local marine store, but it doesn't work so need to return it).

-- Check alternator, which didn't seem to be charging. (Partly done. Need to double-check to make sure it's charging properly).

-- Clean bilge. (Partly done. Still looking for gallon size of white vinegar to finish the job).

-- Find new hose for manual bilge pump and re-plump. (Still looking for hose).

And, this is a fairly typical post-passage list of chores.

A Tale Of Whales, Waterspouts, Flying Fish And One Noble Cat

The punchline of this post involves a flying fish.

But mostly it's about whales, waterspouts, a bit here and there on deserted islands and lastly, the charity and kindness of fellow sailors -- in this case, Peter, Mary and Sophie aboard Neko.

... when last we left off, Noi, Scott and Doug were in Georgetown, the sailing capital of the Exumas. Noi was gearing up for the professional beach volleyball circuit and Scott was reveling in his new-found status as the Texas Hold 'Em champ of Stocking Island. Doug was enjoying both the rum punches and the Brazilian bikinis a little too much for his own good.

As much as we all liked Georgetown, it seemed time to move on. When we got what we thought was a long enough weather window to get to Turks & Caicos, Doug and Noi pulled anchor and we slowly motored out of the harbor, following our track back in order to dodge shallow coral heads. Our friends on Gratitude, Jeannie and Peter, were behind us and planned to go to Mayaguana, which was our own fall-back stop (it's about 40 miles closer).

It was a bit rough getting out of the cut, which it often is. Imagine trying to pour tons of water in or out of a small opening -- and then twice a day trying to pour the whole ocean in the opposite way. What is created is a bathtub effect right near the relatively narrow cut. At the wrong time of day and/or in the wrong kind of weather, it can quickly go from just unpleasant to downright dangerous.

We got farther ahead of Gratitude than we expected, demonstrating once again that the concept of "buddy boating," which sounds great in theory, almost always falls apart in practice. Both crews anticipated this, so it was not alarming. After a few hours we got a call from Peter and Jeannie on the VHF saying that they had a few issues in the rougher-than-expected conditions and had decided to put in at nearby Long Island. We had problems communicating though -- mostly we could hear them but they couldn't hear us. (We didn't find out until days later that after Long Island they subsequently decided on a more ambitious plan to go straight to Jamaica. They made it! Good show, Gratitude!)

About this time, we started to doubt that this very narrow weather window was going to be long enough for us to complete a two-plus-day passage to Turks & Caicos, or even to reach Mayaguana before the wind turned against us and we'd find ourselves motoring into a short (and unpleasant) wind-driven chop. Plan B? There was Rum Cay, a small island community that had suffered quite a lot during Hurricane Joaquin. But it would have us getting in after dark.

Although we have violated the rule about not approaching an unfamiliar harbor in the dark from time to time, it's not a good idea to tempt fate, especially in the reef-strewn Bahamas. The other option was Conception Island, which (along with Rum) was one of Columbus' stops in the New World. Today it's a land and sea park, somewhat similar to Waderick Wells. There was an anchorage there that offered good protection for the blow we were expecting, with winds clocking from north to northeast, east and southeast (the typical pattern of a cold front). We knew we'd be there for a few days without cell phone service and maybe no one else on the uninhabited island.

The anchorage at Conception proved a delight. We were the only boat there and, as we soon found out, the only boat on the whole island, save for a three-masted schooner anchored on the south end who left within hours of our arrival. We took the next day to dinghy ashore and effect a desultory exploration of the island, a fairly typical south Bahamas cay that nonetheless has a beauty all its own. It was wonderful having an island unto ourselves for a few days.

When the weather offered an opportunity, we decided to make a quick sail over to Rum Cay to stage ourselves there for a somewhat shorter hop to Mayaguana (we'd decided by then that maybe Turks & Caicos was too much in one go). 

Along the way, we caught a sailfish! When it hit the line, we knew it was something big. By the time we got it close for inspection, we were surprised that our reel and lure (thanks, Ardi!), had managed to bring in what is a major game fish. It was a Hemingway-esque moment for the crew of Symbiosis. Unfortunately, it is not a fish that is really good to eat. Strange that is, as it seems to be so closely related to the swordfish, which is of course on the menu at expensive restaurants. Much over Noi's protests, we cut the line and lost the lure. I feel bad that we couldn't remove the hook and lure, which could cause the creature some major inconvenience -- or worse. But, the prospect of landing the five foot (?) fish and dealing with the sharp bill to remove the lure (and quite likely killing it in the process) didn't seem worth the risk.

Rum proved not to be nearly as "devastated" as we'd been led to believe. Lots of houses and businesses still standing, although several of them were in the process of getting new roofs installed, no doubt due to hurricane damage. In any case, we did not go ashore and after a sleepless night due to a very unpleasant surge, we shoved off the next morning for Mayaguana.

Rum Cay.

Rum-to-Mayaguana went more or less smoothly. We got a few bites and nearly caught a mahi mahi, a fish we've been hoping to catch since we left the states. It hit hard, putting up more of a fight than even the sailfish had. It broke the surface a few boat lengths behind us and I (Scott) could see that it was easily as big as the sailfish, but of course iridescent green and blue. A beauty that would have fed us all for days. It was not to be. Moments later, it was obvious that nothing but a lure was on the line any longer. I saw a black-tipped shark swim by near the end of the line. It either took the mahi from us or got him after he wriggled free. Just another one of those stories "the one that got away" stories. Sigh.

Mayaguana is a pleasant little spot. We anchored on the south side in Abraham's Bay after motoring along a circuitous and coral-studded path from the western side. The people in the small isolated settlement are quite friendly and helpful. Doug arranged for a flight out. I arranged to get some diesel. A guy named Scully who is described as the local fixer-cum-ambassador in the cruising guides said he could scrounge up 10 gallons for us at $6 a gallon (the Bahamas premium plus a cut for Scully). Technically, we already had enough to make it to our next stop, which at this point we had decided would bypass Turks and lead straight to the Dominican Republic. If we had to motor the whole way, we'd probably make it. But the margin of error was tight and I felt better having the extra 10 gallons aboard for contingencies. The whole affair of actually getting the diesel ended up wasting much of an afternoon. Scully turned out to be not quite as reliable as we'd been led to believe. Anyway, we did eventually get it.

Abraham's Bay, Mayaguana

Next day, Doug was off on a plane and Noi and I returned to the boat and got things ready to shove off for the DR then next morning. We had decided to try the narrow southern cut that would save us quite a bit of time over backtracking to the west. However, at the last minute the skipper chickened out. It probably would have been just fine, but there was one tiny spot where the charts are unclear on the depth, which is obviously at or near a minimum for Symbiosis there. We just did not want to take a chance. Retrieving caution from the wind, we went back out the way we came in.

En route to Hispaniola we had an on again, off again, combination of good sailing, motor sailing (motoring with the sails up, which gives you an assist and allows you to burn less fuel) and plain motoring (yuck!). The seas were mostly calm and we had no real problems, at least initially. Nothing was biting, but that was OK, too.

In the Caicos Passage off the west side of Turks & Caicos, Noi spotted whales on the horizon! They were fairly far off, but we could definitely see them breaching and using their flukes to slap the surface. We are pretty sure they were Humpbacks, but can't say for certain. Seeing these huge beasts from one's own small boat is something we won't soon forget. It's a really different experience than seeing them on a tour. This is the open ocean -- just you and them! We never got closer than maybe 3 to 5 nautical miles from them (and we got the distinct impression they were actively avoiding us), but it was still a spectacular encounter!

Our next run in was with Mother Nature. We had missed a few squalls here and there, but on the second day out an ominous one loomed on the horizon and it looked difficult to skirt. Worse, we soon noticed waterspouts (seabourne tornadoes) forming on its leading edge. Right in our path! We motored hard to try to pass to one side of the storm. For some time it was touch and go, but the waterspouts disappeared and we motored through the squall, which actually turned out to be quite benign. We didn't even see 20 knots. Still, an anxious few hours.

One of the problems with planning a passage like this is how to time your arrival. Usually, you shoot for a morning landfall. You want to see the entrance and you want plenty of daylight to get in. This was the case for our planned landfall at Luperon. The problem is that the wind and waves are fickle. The rule of thumb is to plan to make 100 nautical miles a day. That's averaging 4 knots. If there's decent wind, or if we motor (or motor sail), we can easily do 5 knots (120 miles) and not infrequently, 6 knots. On a two-day passage, the difference between 4 knots and 5 knots, for example, is 40 miles, or about 10 hours. If you're purists (which we aren't), you would simply sail the whole way and either get lucky with arriving at exactly the right time or else heave to (stop the boat by using the sails on opposite sides) to wait for the right time to enter. Or you could try to sail, but have a rule that if your speed falls below a certain threshold, you turn on the engine. This is something we try to do, but even that doesn't always work out.

As we got closer to Luperon, it was obvious we needed to dial things back or we'd end up there well before daybreak. As a result, we had the engine barely above idle, motoring at 3 knots or so in fairly calm seas. About 25 miles out, I heard the engine make a funny noise. Then, it suddenly shut down. Shit. It was dead calm and we couldn't sail. We needed to make it in by the morning for two reasons: one being that the north shore of the Dominican Republic is notorious for getting very windy and very rough after about 10 a.m. The other was that a major cold front, with possibly 30 knots of wind and big seas, was forecast to reach us later that day.

I immediately suspected a clogged fuel line from dirty fuel. Just before we left Mayaguana, I changed two of the three in-line fuel filters because I suspected we may have gotten some dirty diesel in Georgetown. I checked the first filter, designed to catch the big stuff, and it looked clean. But by opening it up to inspect it, I was inevitably introducing air into the fuel line, which meant the necessity of re-bleeding the engine -- a somewhat time-consuming and tedious process. In any case, I hadn't made a definitive diagnosis of the proximate cause of the shut down, something that might take hours and at worst prove impossible. We needed to get into port.

I issued a cautionary "pan, pan" call on the radio -- an announcement that says you're in trouble, but falls well short of a "mayday," which clearly was not our situation. In short, we needed a tow into Luperon and were hoping a fisherman might help us. No one answered.  I then issued a "securite" -- an informational broadcast announcing our position and that we were adrift. This was to make sure no one thought we were underway and hit us. At this time of day, one's navigational lights should tell the story, but on a small boat, there really isn't a proper lighting configuration to say "I am dead in the water." After that, I went forward to put up the sails in hopes of getting at least a breath of air and making some progress toward Hispaniola. We were still too far out to reach anyone on land by radio, and besides, it was only about 1 a.m., so who would be listening at that hour?

That's when Noi, who was at the helm, noticed a catamaran, Neko, on the AIS (a device that tracks boats via a VHF signal). I knew that boat! Although I'd never met skipper Peter Malloy and his wife, Mary, in person, I had interviewed Peter via email for a story I had recently finished for an upcoming issue of Cruising World. Noi thought Neko was going in the opposite direction, perhaps leaving Luperon for points north. There was a chance the skipper had the skinny on who to contact to get a tow once we were in range of Luperon. I called Neko on the radio and Peter answered. He said he'd heard our pan and securite broadcasts and was just sorting some things out on his boat before calling to ask if he could assist. In fact, he too was heading for Luperon, trying to get ahead of the same cold front we were hoping to beat. 

Peter said he was reluctant to tow us 25 miles. It can be difficult or dangerous and hard on his engines, which were after all designed to propel one boat, not two. I would have had exactly the same concerns if our situation had been reversed. But as we discussed it, Peter said he'd give it a try. He would tow us to the harbor; however, like us he'd never been there before and didn't want to try to bring us all the way through what looked on the charts to be a narrow and intricate entrance. He was just being prudent. I would expect nothing less.

I went forward to take down the mainsail and discovered it jammed at the top! We needed to get that down, as having it up in any kind of wind could have seriously complicated the tow. I called Peter and informed him of the problem and we concurred that it was better to not try a tow unless I could get the main down. If I forced it down the track, I risked ripping it, but it seemed at the time we needed to take that risk. We could always repair the sail later. Then I had an idea. I attached a line to a cringle (ring) on the sail's luff (front side) and ran it down to the winch that is normally used to raise the sail. I cranked it and the sail popped and began running down the track. Whew!

I called Peter back and asked if he was still willing to give it a try. He said yes, maneuvered up to us and after one failed try we managed to toss Mary a messenger line and send over the tow rope. The several-hour tow to Luperon was mostly uneventful except for one moment when a flying fish breached the surface, glided under the bimini and grazed my face before landing with a squish on the stern deck. Yep. You can't make this stuff up!

Our heroes aboard S/V Neko towing us into Luperon.

We got close to Luperon, called Puerto Blanco Marina on the radio and got an answer from a very American-sounding fellow. Thomas said he'd get in his skiff and come out and take over the tow from Neko. It turned out that this fellow, aboard his boat, Ciganka, was simply a long-term liveaboard in the anchorage. He showed up along with a swarm of other dinghies to assist us in getting in. It was quite a surprising and initially confusing scene. At first, I had no idea who these people were. But it all went like clockwork from there. Neko dropped the tow line and Thomas hip-towed us in with his skiff and 15 hp outboard with Symbiosis providing the steering.

The anchorage that unfolded before us is without a doubt one of the prettiest we've ever seen. Much different than the Bahamas, this was a mountain-and-mangrove ringed spot that is simply breathtaking in its beauty. And extremely well protected. It felt like a spot we wouldn't mind spending some time in.

Luperon harbor.

Home. For awhile, at least!

Raising the Dominican courtesy flag!

Camp George Town!

View from Monument Hill. Symbiosis is there -- somewhere!

It's been more than a week since we arrived in George Town. We are enjoying ourselves!

If you know anything about the Bahamas, you know that George Town is a mecca and a sort of southern terminus for boats traveling in the Exumas. Some go farther south, as we intend to do, but most hang out here for a few weeks or months and then slowly make their way back north.

The anchorage has a very elaborate morning radio net and the announcements read like a kids' summer camp -- volleyball, poker, yoga, lectures, etc. Amazing, really.

We've been in two anchorages thus far: the first was just off Goat Cay on the western side of the harbor. We waited out some relatively light westerlies there and then hopped over to the other side, in the lee of Monument Hill, where we've been ever since. Off Monument Beach, as it's known, has been ideal for protection from the north and northeast, which we've had a lot of recently. We are about to get even more from that direction, with two days of 30 knots forecast for tomorrow (Thursday) and Friday.

We expected to see our friends, Peter and Jeannie on Gratitude when we arrived in the harbor, but despite repeated attempts to contact them via VHF, we couldn't -- at least not initially. The harbor is chock-a-block with boats in various anchorages, so we had no idea where they might be or if they had even arrived. We finally gave up after a few days of trying on the radio and then we heard a call from them! Apparently they had some "issues" and were delayed. We left it at a vague promise to "see you in town," but we have yet to see them. Hope we meet up again before one or the other of us shoves off.

Meanwhile, at Monument Beach we ended up anchoring next to The Norm, a catamaran that belongs to Rhonda and Bruce, a very interesting couple that we first met in Charleston. We've enjoyed re-connecting with them and they've been most helpful -- their boat has an enormous generator and water maker; they've been saving us a lot of trips into town for water! They also gave us a whole flash-drive full of movies and TV. We had never seen Game of Thrones, but in the past week we've binge-watched two seasons. Count us among the newly converted.

Last night we also were over for sundowners with friends on DiscoFish. We met Marc and Joanne in Nassau. They are bound for the BVIs, so we are likely to keep bumping into them as we head in the same general direction.

Besides all the fun, I have managed to get some writing done too. Before we left Emerald Bay Marina, I pitched a story to Cruising World and they accepted. I just finished writing it yesterday after several days of reporting. It's slated to appear in the May issue. So look for it!

Finally, our good friend Doug Reynolds from Magothy Marina arrives today. Doug is going to sail with us to the Turks & Caicos. His schedule is a bit tight and (unfortunately) it's looking like it may be a week at least before we get suitable weather again for that passage (which might be multi-stop or straight-through -- we're not sure yet). Hope Doug likes George Town as much as we do!

Water, Water Everywhere ...

The crystal-clear water of the Exumas (that's our anchor in 10'), but you can't drink it!

Unless you're from Flint, Michigan, or perhaps somewhere in the western states at the height of summer, in the U.S., people tend to take the availability of limitless fresh water for granted.

Not so here in the Bahamas. It's not uncommon for marinas to charge $0.50 a gallon for "reverse osmosis water," i.e., water that's been desalinated and is (at least in theory) safe for human consumption.

So, water conservation aboard Symbiosis is part of our daily routine. We use seawater to clean dishes and do most of the washing, just using a spritz of fresh water at the end to remove the saltiness. And, when we get a chance for free or cheap fresh water to fill the boat's 90-gallon tank, we seize it.

Perhaps we're a bit too eager: The saga of the foul water in our tank may or may not have started at a marina in Nassau. There, the water was cheap and we topped off our depleted tank, only to find out later that it was considered "not potable." We asked around and other cruisers who had been around the block  -- and who didn't seem concerned with filling their tanks from the same source -- assured us it was just fine for drinking. That left me temporarily reassured.

A week later, on the advice of another old hand, we took just 5 gallons from a cistern at Norman's Cay. And a few days later, several gallons of reverse osmosis (R.O.) water from Highbourne marina. About this time, it presented an unpleasant smell, tasted bad and had a slight oily sheen to it. We were putting it through our water filter for drinking, but it was still difficult to drink.

It wasn't making us sick, just unpleasant to deal with while we cruised the Exumas, a place where the basics, such as fresh water, are even harder to come by than in the rest of the Bahamas. In short, we could have dumped our foul water, but we might not have been able to replenish it for some weeks, so instead we decided to put up with it.

Here we are at Emerald Bay Marina, just short of Georgetown -- a nicely protected place to wait out yet another westerly blow. The water is $0.40/gallon on top of a 10% service charge. Expensive still, but enough was enough with this agua! We poured bleach into the remaining 40 gallons or so in the tank, drained it,  rinsed, repeated, until it was running clean. Still, we didn't waste the water -- using the rinse water to wash Symby's topsides, which had become encrusted with salt from our recent offshore passages.

Where did the bad water come from? We still don't know for sure. We ran into the guy at Nassau who assured us the water there was good. He had also been to the same marina (Highbourne) where we took water and he insisted that's where the foul-smelling stuff came from. I have my doubts. We filled one extra 5 gallon jug with the Highbourne water and it was just fine 2 weeks later (I checked). Or perhaps it was that cistern on Norman's, although it seems hard to believe that just 5 gallons could have so badly contaminated the other 85.

The water is running clean, but putting it through the filter for drinking still produces the unpleasant smell and taste. I think the bad water has now thoroughly funked up the filter. So, tomorrow my mission is to change the filter cartridges!

Sea Life And Salted Pork

Yesterday, Noi and I celebrated our 7^th wedding anniversary. Yes, we were married on Groundhog Day, but at least this year we can definitely say that we are not reliving the same old thing! 

Since my last post, we have done much, albeit in a fairly confined geography:

After leaving Highbourne Cay Marina, we made tracks south for Warderick Wells Cay, part of the Exuma Land & Sea Park. It's a protected area where fishing and poaching is prohibited. It is considered one of the real gems of the Exumas. 

Noi and I agree that it’s been the high point of our experience so far. This is a place that is nearly inaccessible for anyone but us cruisers. Each day, a few boats are invited in to take a mooring and stay as long as they like for just $20/day (at least for our size boat). Getting into the park is a bit nerve-racking, however. First, one must thread one's way down a thin and shallow channel, weaving between a sand bar on one side and a row of already-moored boats on the other – all the while fighting a strong current. Let’s just say that you're close enough to the boats to exchange pleasantries on the way in if it weren't that your attention is focused on the tricky entry. We had a moment in which the park administrator called us on the VHF to warn that we were too far from the channel marker and in danger of running aground. We spun around a few times before getting our bearings and finally picking up the last mooring in the field (#22).

Once we got a chance to settle in and look around, we knew we’d made the right decision to come here. Wow. Words, and even photos, don’t do the place justice. Within two hours of our arrival (and just as we were discussing a quick salt-water dip), a rather large looking reef shark buzzed Symbiosis.

We ended up spending several days at the park, hiking around and enjoying the scenery. We trekked up Boo Boo Hill to leave a driftwood placard with our boat's name -- a tradition among cruisers at Warderick.

We also spent a fair amount of time on the beaches on the Exuma Sound side of the cay. Unfortunately, there are several beaches that are inundated in plastic that's washed ashore. We collected a large trash bag and brought it back to the park HQ for disposal. Our effort didn't even make a dent. We encourage anyone visiting Warderick to do the same. If everyone filled one large bag, it would go a long way toward keeping the beaches clean.

Next stop was Big Majors Spot near Staniel Cay, where pigs don't fly, but they do swim! Noi especially enjoyed the piggy-paddling swine. There are a few different stories about how the pigs got here. One legend says that Columbus' men left them when they landed here in the Bahamas. Others say there's a more recent origin to the porcine invasion. Anyway, it's worth seeing. And, Big Majors Spot is a very nice anchorage. The other attraction is the Thunderball Grotto, so named because a scene in the James Bond film (Sean Connery era) was filmed there. Spectacular! We swam in at low tide and got some shots on the GoPro, which I'm still in the process of processing.

To complete the experience, we ended up anchoring right next to Jeannie and Peter on Gratitude, who we had not seen since Vero Beach, Fl.

Now, we are in Black Point, a lovely anchorage with a community that really gets the cruising thing. Ida's Rockside Laundry is a one-stop shop: wash clothes, get a shower, pick up some outboard oil and best of all ... free and reliable wifi (which I am using as I write). Lorraine owns a wonderful little restaurant. Garbage disposal and free water, too, which seem like a given, but in the Bahamas, not so much! If you need a place to stop and recharge, this is it. Most definitely our favorite anchorage save the Exuma Park.

We are expecting more foul weather and unfortunately, Black Point is not the right place for it. Our plan now is to head a few miles south tomorrow (Thursday) and shove off on Friday for the last leg into Georgetown.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Heading over the bank

Just after dawn on Monday, we set out from our slip at Nassau's Harbour Central Marina, headed east and out over the Great Bahama Bank toward Norman's Cay. We got out the Yankee (small foresail) first and then the mainsail. We had some difficulty getting the main up and did not realize that a batten was caught on a lazyjack line. It wasn't until a few hours later that we discovered what had happened and that the main had a nice two-foot rip along a batten pocket. More repairs. Ugh.

Vowing not to let it ruin our day, we left the main up. Off the wind it didn't appear like it would tear anymore (and thankfully, it didn't). The tear didn't hurt the boat's performance much and we enjoyed our first real sail since leaving the U.S., gliding along the crystal-clear, azure-colored water. The average depth here is about 12 feet, save for an intimidating stretch called the Yellow Bank where charts warn of possibly less than 5 feet and "numerous shallow coral heads." Seeing the bottom as we scooted over dark patches of rock and sand was thrilling and a little bit scary. You will never see water like this on the Chesapeake! Noi stood on the foredeck with binoculars guiding us around the most ominous-looking sections.

We decided to drop a line and were rewarded with our first catch since Charleston -- an Amberjack (we think). Throughout the day, we would catch a Barracuda (not safe to eat, and besides who's volunteering to remove the hook?) and a Snapper (or I still think a Rudderfish).

By afternoon, we made it to Norman's Cay, entered the channel and anchored a few hundred yards from a sunken airplane that crashed circa 1980 when drug-lord Carlos Lehder, a co-founder of the Colombian Medellin Cartel, briefly controlled the island. There were several other boats in the anchorage, including S/V Fairwind, hailing from Annapolis, Md., swinging to two anchors near us. Aboard we met Voi, a self-described "boat bum," who has been back and forth to this area several times over the years.

Noi and Voi

Early Tuesday, we called Waderick Wells Land & Sea Park to get on the wait list for a mooring the next day. We had to have another boat relay our request on VHF Channel 9, as we were just little too far away to reach the park directly.

We spent the rest of the day hiking around the island -- up one hill to find some abandoned bungalows and a still working cistern and then around a new airstrip to find MacDuff's, a famous tiki bar (famous for its location as well as its prices -- $10 a drink!). We were the only customers. 

McDuff's

The forecast showed deteriorating weather and a strong westerly -- fairly unusual for these parts and unfortunately, a direction that the Exuma cays are not well placed geographically to offer protection from. We were hoping to be south and on a secure mooring at Waderick by the time the blow came in. But, we did not get a spot, as everyone else was apparently thinking the same thing. Plan B was to make a reservation at Highbourne Marina just north of us -- a luxury spot with prices to match.

Later, Voi, an avid diver, took Noi on a snorkeling expedition while I tended the dinghy. Among other things, we explored Norman's Pond, a large waterway enclosed 360 degrees -- a wonderful, natural hurricane hole. But alas, the tricky and extremely shallow entrance was a non-starter for us. But if your boat draws less than 5 feet, you could get in at high tide, as several shallow-draft boats do on a regular basis.

Thursday morning, we set out early for Highbourne and made it in the marina by about noon. As we were motoring to our slip, someone was waving from the dock a little too enthusiastically to be the hired help. It turned out to be fellow traveler Laura Bertrand, also ex-NPR, who is sailing the Exumas with her partner, Gail, aboard S/V Footloose, an Ericson 35. A week or so ago, Gail broke her wrist while climbing a hill on Cave Cay (farther south). So, the two have decided to return to Florida and spend the rest of the winter in the keys there. They are stopping at Highbourne (or Highbrow as I call it) to wait out the same weather system as they head back north.

Fellow traveler and ex-nipper (NPR hand) Laura Bertran

So, here we are in another expensive marina seeing dollar signs and a steady rain. I feel a bit like I'm playing one of those children's games where I am forced to move back a space. Oh well, I have a few freelance projects I can do that might pay the bills. Better get to work.

Lucaya To Nassau

Another tough passage from Lucaya to Nassau, the main cruise ship hub in the Bahamas. A big swell on top of a short wind chop. All motoring, all the time. Will we ever get to sail?!

We had planned to go to West Bay and hangout for a few days at the beach where Jaws (the original?) was filmed, but our chart plotter was acting up again, and Nassau seemed more straight-forward and therefore safer, especially now that our chart plotter and depth sounder are the same unit (see previous post "A Rant About Electronics").

Since we arrived last Saturday, we've been waiting on weather. We had planned to leave this morning for the Exumas (Normans Cay), but bagged that when the dawn broke with a heavy overcast sky. There's a patch of coral heads that passes through the middle of our intended track and we want the sunlight to make sure we miss 'em all. The locals don't seem to be too concerned about them, but I don't want to take any chances, especially since this is a first-of-its-kind passage over a shallow bank for us.

Meantime, a few boat projects and finally getting to some freelance writing. Something to kill the time. While offshore and motoring hard, whenever the boat would pitch, I'd hear a scraping sound in the engine and then a bad vibration. I concluded that the shaft was misaligned and that it was something I needed to address as soon as we were in port.

Indeed, that was the case. A whopping .022 off -- with the engine too high in front (or too low in back, depending on how you might look at it). This was almost certainly at least in part the source of my alternator vibration issue. The problem was, that the front engine mounts had no play to lower them and the rear ones were all but inaccessible. However, the front two had a couple of thin shims underneath and I found that by removing one of the two shims, the engine came into almost perfect alignment. What luck! A messy job, but I hope it's the end of the issue. If not, I have bigger (and more expensive) problems on my hands.

We have done a bit of exploring of Nassau. It's not very many people's favorite city and has a reputation for being awash in guns and violent crime. The second night we were in the marina, we heard the report of a pistol three times, the screech of car tires and then sirens. I heard something on the local news that sounded like it might be connected, but we still aren't sure.