Log Book: April 13th

Conditions: 70 & overcast
Location: Vero Beach

We left Stuart is morning and had an uneventful ride up the ICW as we were headed for Vero Beach. Just as we were closing in on our destination another sailboat began to pass us. I glanced behind us and vaguely waved but didn't take much notice of it. Then as she started to pull away I caught a glimpse of the name written on the side of the hull: Surreal. It was undoubtably the same boat of two Canadians we had met in Key Largo! They were waving madly from inside their cockpit with their dog Cosmo. It was so good to see them. Talking on the radio we discovered that we were both headed to the same marina and that the Welch's, friends from our yacht club, were not far behind. When all three boats were settled in on moorings we got together for some drinks and to chat. Our friends on both boats are headed for Brunswick, Georgia. The Canadians were leaving their boat there for the summer and the Welch's were leaving there's for a short period while they visited friends and family back in CT. Together we all made a plan to travel as far north together as we could and set a takeoff time for 9am tomorrow morning, our destination; Cocoa Beach.

Log Book: April 4th-12th

Conditions: 80 & sunny
Location: Stuart Florida

In the morning we decided to sneak into shore. We haven't called customs yet so we don't know if we're breaking the rules by not abiding by the quarantine but we figured since we are US citizens we can risk it. The problem was there was no place to dingy ashore, the waterway was surrounded by private homes. We eventually rowed up to an empty lot with a dock where a sign said "police property, no trespassing" but to me the sign just as good as read "public property."
We ate some breakfast, got some groceries, ice, and oil for the engine. When we returned to the dingy there was a man in a truck eyeing us suspiciously. He called us over and told us that we weren't allowed to dingy up to this dock and that he is suppose to call the coast guard if people did. We explained that we had been sailing all night and just needed a place to pop on shore quickly. He said again "I'm suppose to call the coast guard." Dad told him were leaving right now and he said AGAIN "I'm suppose to call the coast guard," and added "where are you from." We told him about home in Connecticut. He was from Massachusetts and the New England camaraderie seemed to do the trick and he let us off with a warning. Dad thinks that the strict neighborhood watch program and the inconvenience of no shore to dingy up to speaks to a fear of illegal immigrants coming ashore here. At least it's not militarized but these Florida neighborhood watch programs have a history of taking it to the next level. The sail down to Port Saint Lucie was not easy. It was hard to get reacclimatized with channel markers, bridges, dug channels, and he increased number of vessels about. When we reached the marina in Stuart it was like reaching Mecca. It was the most beautiful marina I had ever seen and it was municipal. They had bikes, a lounge, a gift shop, laundry, bathrooms, wifi, and a patio with a grill. The lounge was the best with a big flat screen that hosted a movie night twice a week, a half kitchen, and a number of couches and desks. Dad and I signed up to stay the week in the mooring field and called customs. Customs told us we had twenty four hours to reach their nearest office (Fort Pierce) and to bring our passports and all aboard. We still didn't know what to expect, maybe a customs officer would then accompany us back to the boat to check it? But no. We went to the customs office and they basically stamped our passports and told us to get out of the line. We heard the Canadians grumbling behind us that it wasn't so easy for them. I was shocked at how simple the process was, after hearing how hard the government has come down on drug smugglers and illegal immigrants crossing the Mexican boarder it seemed that it was really about race and not about drugs or an influx of non citizens. If Dad and I wanted to smuggle some Bahamians over or anything it would've been only too easy.
While in Stuart we met up with friends, picked up our bikes and other gear we left behind, did some shopping, and caught up with our favorite basketball teams watching both them men and women huskies take home the NCAA championship. Stuart was a great town and the marina was just a city block away, we had all the amenities of home, finally. It felt great to  have left the Bahamas and be back in the states the main difference between the two was choice. In the Publix in Florida you didn't have to buy just any cheese, you could choose between Gouda, cheddar, feta, Swiss, American, etc. I really took our amount of choice in this country for granted before now. If money doesn't lead to happiness then choice is the next best option, choice = freedom. However, this same agency of choice, like money, is not the cure all to unhappiness. I found myself staring at the immense variety of butter on the shelves. How many kinds of butter do consumers really need and how do I decide which one is for me? Have you ever been to an ice cream shop and wished the only flavors they had were chocolate or vanilla? That is an easy choice, and a quick choice. Having to sift through the garbage of advertising in order to find the product (or in this case the butter) that is right for you can easily lead to stagnation, and time is money after all. Some of the time that stagnation of the decision making process can even lead to skipping the choice all together, the freedom to opt out. Maybe this doesn't happen in the dairy isle, because we all need butter but this happens to me almost every other time that I'm in the junk food isle. It takes me so long to decide, Lays or Doritos that eventually my conscious kicks in and says 'you don't need any of this.' As I walked through the supermarket in Stuart that's all I had on my mind "I don't need any of this." The amount of choice is sickening compared to other places, like the Bahamas. If there is a happy medium between the freedom of choice and a moderation of choices it doesn't seem like any supermarket in any country has figured it out.

Log Book: April 3rd-4th

Conditions: 20 knot E wind
Location: The Atlantic

We steamed out of Green Turtle this morning with our new fan belt. We saw a few other sailboats headed west as well, undeniably for the US. It was a glorious day, not too hot and perfectly breezy for us to sail. We planned on stopping at Great Sail Cay, last stopping point before the sand flats of the Bahama bank and the ocean. There were eight boats there already, each one getting some shut eye before the journey across. Although we had left Green Turtle early this morning Dad and I both felt wide awake and decided that we'd skip the stop and just keep sailing. The wind direction was just too good to miss out on, we were averaging 8 knots, but we also felt like we didn't want to give fortune a chance to spin her wheel in the wrong direction for us again. I sailed from sunset to 2am. We met no one on the way out. Not a single boat. It wasn't all relaxing though. Since we didn't expect to be crossing tonight we didn't have most of our gear organized. I had to pump up the life raft and strap it on deck, on a bigger boat this might not have been much of an issue but maneuvering on deck with two dingies, a windsurfer, three sun showers, and a five gallon fuel can while sailing was tough. In the cabin Dad organized every loose piece of equipment that could get dislodged or fall over and in the cockpit we got our life jackets and ditch bag ready. Lastly I secured my plant collection, now swollen to five pots, one big one for the coconut Palm. Having never made the crossing back to the states we're not quiet sure what customs will have to say about our new Bahamian plants. Some people said that Florida is really strict, that the coast guard will fine you and make your throw away your foreign plants because they are afraid illegal alien bugs will be transported in the leaves and once released they will decimate the oranges. Therefore I intend to hide the green guys on board when we get close to Florida.

Dad took the wheel from 2am to sunrise. During our shifts on the wheel we survived on the last of our speciality coffee from Hope Town and pure adrenaline. At 3am we passed memory rock and left the Bahamas behind us for the Atlantic. The ride was smooth and I didn't feel sea sick once. We were flying home, going an average of 9 knots through the night. Like Dad, I napped in the cockpit during his shift just in case something happened, but nothing did. At dawn two container ships appeared on the horizon. Without a land indicator behind them it was difficult to discern which direction they were traveling, even though they are huge and moving very fast. They can be very dangerous at night, especially for the tired sailor. To combat the dangers of being mowed down by one of these vessels most long distance, off shore boats carry AIS systems that will identify boats by name, tell captains if they are on a crash course, indicate the speed and course of other boats, etc. We don't have one of these miraculous investments, making it hard to be confident when sailing in the dark. But we needn't have worried. We reached Florida around noon and began to sail up the coast to Fort Pierce, dodging fishing boats as we went apparently the Mahi Mahi had begun their migration. At this point I was a little frustrated, tired, and ready to drop the sail. The hardest part of the trip for me has always been seeing the coast and the accompanying feeling of being 'so close yet so far.' Our original plan was to come in at Fort Pierce because it was an easy entry and sail down the ICW to Port Saint Lucie, rent a car and clear customs there but when we got into Fort Pierce we dropped the hook in the first available spot (the nearest marina was full) and napped.

No pictures so enjoy this Florida beach scene: 

Log Book: April 1st-2nd

Conditions: 15 knot E wind
Location: Green Turtle part 2

Today Dad and I left Hopetown in an attempt to go snorkeling off of Sandy Cay, which is known as a great snorkeling spot. Dad has been there before. He went sailing in the Bahamas multiple times when he was my age. The island is very, very small and there is no way to go ashore unless you can navigate the rock filled beach. We tried to take the dingy out to the other side of the island, where the reef is but the waves were just too big. By the time we made it back to the boat I was soaked and we haven't even gone in yet. The water on the reef side of the island is deep making it hard to anchor, especially in this chop. The charter boats do have some moorings set up just off the reef but our boat is too big for them. We had planned to stay the night at Sandy Cay but the waves made it so uncomfortable that we left and went to a different deserted island with more protection for the night . In the morning we tried to go back to Sandy Cay and anchor. We brought the dingy out again but the waves were still to big to get to the other side of the island safely. Dad and I threw out the dingy hook just off the lee side of the island. We jumped ship and started to swim around to the other side. Turning the corner of the island the full force of the waves hit us. It was impossible to snorkel through them. As the waves crashed over our heads the force of the crests pushed us closer and closer to the boulders that edged off of the end of the island, looming out of the sea like giant icebergs of black rock. We turned back and with that final letdown Dad and I decided to leave the Bahamas, right now. We returned to Hope Town, paid the mooring fee, got ice, food, fuel, and left again. We got to Green Turtle just after sunset. It was still pretty light out but we didn't go in the harbor. We anchored outside with around seven other boats. Dad and I felt pretty accomplished to have made it all the way from Sandy Cay to Green Turtle without so much as a days preparation. The route to Green Turtle forces sailors out of the usually calm Sea of Abaco and out into the ocean through a small cut in the islands and reefs called Whale Passage, or just "the whale." It can take days to get a weather window through this small opening, and still it can be dangerous. We heard on the cruisers net (the radio morning talk show) that a boat got pushed into the reef by the swells, lost their rudder and punched a hole in the hull. It can be tricky but we got lucky. That is we were feeling lucky until we anchored, shut off the engine and heard a bubbling of boiling water. Our fan belt had broken right when we anchored, overheating the engine, but causing no damage. Dad assured me that any season sailor doesn't go far from home without bringing an extra fan belt along, we just needed to find where ours was. We searched around for a little with flashlights but no luck and we were so tired that we decided that we would just find it in the morning. We plan to sail to Spanish Cay or Great Sail at sunrise, either island will be our last stop before hitting the beach in Florida.
In the morning we began our search anew. Dad and I tore the boat apart in the process, looking in the most unlikely places. We both knew that we had seen the belt, we just couldn't remember where. We were on the point of despair when we found the receipt from when the belt was purchased, a good sign but as they say no cigar. It was almost eleven when we finally found the actual belt hidden inside a cupboard above the nav station. I did the happy dance as Dad held the belt aloft, but there was doubt written all over his face. He said to me "this doesn't look like the right belt." I knew what he meant, the belt in his hand was small, very small but we had the receipt with the part number it had to be the right belt. As it turns out the part store had given Dad a 24' belt instead of a 42' although the receipt said that we had the 41'. It was a big blow. I was sort of numb in disbelief. This would most certainly delay our departure. One of the other anchored boats outside Green Turtle offered to take Dad into the hardware store/marine store to see if they had a belt that would fit. Dad came back empty handed but had arranged a tow into Black sound harbor, staying on the anchor without engine power would be too risky. We came up with two plans. The couple that had taken Dad into the hardware store had a friend flying into Marsh Harbour from Miami - they sent him a text asking him to pick up a fan belt in Marsh at the local NAPA. There wasn't much hope for this though, the flying friend in question would have to receive the text before takeoff, while he still had service. The second plan was for the owner of the tow company to pick up a fan belt while he was in Marsh Harbour tomorrow. This second plan had a higher chance of success but it would put off our departure for at least two more days and by then our weather window to cross the gulf might be closed. Dad and I began calling every marina and every hardware store on every island we have been to in the Bahamas. No one could help us, no one had the right fan belt. Most disheartening was when we called the NAPA in Marsh Harbour and they didn't have the belt either. That was the worst news. We began thinking that we would have to get a belt shipped over from the states which would take at least a week. I know, I know, we got ourselves stuck in the Bahamas boo hoo, we are so unlucky but once you have your heart set on leaving you get this fever that nothing but the road can cure. Trying to make the best of it I took out the paddle board, got on, and barely began to paddle away when a voice came over the radio calling "Second Wind." It was the boaters we had met this morning with the friend flying in from Miami. He had found a auto store with the fan belt we needed. Things could not have turned out better.

Log book: March 23-31

Conditions: 75 degrees
Location: Hopetown

Today Dad and I woke up in Guana and had planned to go snorkeling, but sailing plans must always be adjustable. We listened to the weather and unfortunately the Abacos should be expecting fifty knot winds in just two days. Marsh Harbour has no moorings and anchoring out in fifty knot winds would be a brutal experience. Dad decided that we didn't even have time to stop at Fowl Cay to snorkel, we would have to sail straight for Hopetown, hoping to get on a mooring ball there. Hopetown Harbour is certainly a hurricane hole, with 360 degrees of protection, making it a very competitive spot for moorings. Sure enough when we got into Hopetown there wasn't a single mooring ball left. We motored around and around the harbor until finally another boater pointed out some styrofoam balls connected to a line, "this ones free," they shouted at us. Usually the lack of a large official looking mooring ball indicates that it is a private mooring, not for rent. We uneasily picked up the ball anyway and tucked in for the night, hoping that we had found somewhere we could wait out the blow. If not we would be forced to return to the sheltered harbor of Man-O-War, for my sanity this cannot occur.

Dad and I met a lot of locals in Hopetown. We got to know two of the local fisherman particularly well. Corey and JR were spear fisherman who used surface supplied oxygen to dive eighty feet deep to catch 300-500 pounds of grouper and other fish a day. They took the barbs off of their Hawaiian sling spears to ensure that if they did not immediately kill the fish at the end of their spear it would be able to get off no swim away. A struggling fish on the end of your spear is the worst thing to have an arms length from you while in the water, since sharks frequently swam toward any injured fish. But they also had skepticism that there would be a shark attack in the Bahamas. After talking to them for awhile they seemed to categorize a shark attack as merely a swimmer being grabbed off of the beach. However Corey thought it was only a matter of time before one of the stupid tourists who feed the sharks on the reef loose a hand, that didn't seem to count as an actual attack. But hat doesn't mean that they aren't afraid of them. JR often said that there is nothing to fear from a shark swimming below you, that means the shark is looking at fish below for food and not at you. When the shark is swimming above you that's when you should think of getting out of the water. I'm not so sure about this theory, but they know much more than I do. Once while Corey was diving a great shadow passed overhead, for a second he was sure a huge tiger shark was looking down on him with hungry eyes but when he looked up he saw a pod of humpback whales. They had a ton of cool fishing stories like this, and explained the ins and outs of the business down here. They even gave us about five pounds of grouper one day and took us out to the best local bars. Although Hopetown is much bigger than Man-O-War Dad and I were even more well known here. Every new person that I meet I find already knows me but just like in Man-O-War Dad and I are running out of things to do. The storm that came through was a lot less severe than predicted but the winds have still been more than twenty knots for a few days. I went for a lot of runs, walks on the beach, sails on the windsurfer and paddle board excursions to pass the time.  There are a ton of green turtles in the harbor here and I even saw a nurse shark swim under me while I was paddle boarding. I assume that the congregation of turtles is due to the jelly fish that litter the sea floor in the harbor. It took me a few days to identify them as jellyfish, they rest on the bottom with their tentacles pulsing constantly upward without leaving the sand.