The Silver Lining

The heavy winds have passed and it’s time to leave Georgetown. On Sunday we plan to cross the harbor and attend to our errands: laundry, internet and grocery shopping hoping to head out by noon. The Laundromat posts hours as “open daily” and we also make sure the grocery store is open. Well, the Bahamas are still pretty traditional and most folks attend Sunday services, so daily does not mean Sunday. The Laundromat is closed. So is the restaurant with WIFI that Tom needed to use. At least the grocery store is open. We are all disappointed by this turn of events. We were looking forward to hitting the seas and finding more cool anchorages. 

To make the best of it, we motor the quarter mile back across Elizabeth Harbor spend the afternoon playing on the beach. The first order of business on Monday is to finish those pesky errands and leave by 11. So Sunday night we cross the harbor for a third time just before sunset and … disaster. Tom realizes that he’s no control of the throttle on the left engine…the throttle cable isn’t working. We have no idea how big a problem this is just yet, but we are thankful that it’s happened 1) under benign circumstances and 2) in a place that’s big enough to have some services available.  Tom is SO bummed. We are just a month out and this could delay us for a week.

During the morning cruiser’s net, a fellow boater recommends a mechanic. After a quick call to Wendel to schedule time, we divide and conquer. Zoe and I head off with our loads of laundry, while Tom look for a marine store that hopefully stocks the right cables. Upon returning with loads of clean clothes, we receive great news: Wendel, the dignified Bahamian who must be at least 60, competently replaces the cable in a couple of hours and we are set to go. Buoyed by this Tom heads in to buy ice cream and download books for the eReader. The kids accompany him so they can shop at the market one last time (and pick the ice cream of course!). During this final foray into town, that which we’ve given up on finally happens: they meet a family with 3 girls: Hannah (14), Mia (12) and Ellie (9) , headed in our direction on the same schedule. Their boat, a schooner is named Helia, a mash-up of the girl’s names. 

Of course, now that the kids have someone to play with they are in no hurry. They rendezvous with Hannah, Mia and Ellie on the beach that very evening and ask to stay another day so they can spend more time with their new buddies. We take all the kids to body surf, while their parents, Rob and Ginnie, head to town for laundry. After everyone has completed their school work, the kids get together once again to find a geocache. Finally, they come over for drinks and swimming. It’s so nice. And to think if we’d left 24 hours earlier, we’d have never met. 

Unfortunately, Helia is awaiting a part stuck in customs so they are delayed indefinitely. However, we are thrilled to have had this interaction and hope our paths cross again in the next 3 weeks.

 

From: Naomi Tam
Sent: Friday, April 19, 2013 9:46 PM
To: evalanitam.nvsailing@blogger.com
Subject: So…What exactly do you do all day?

 

Our friends frequently ask us this question. It’s understandable. Liberator, after all measures 43’ long by half as wide. One imagines that living knee to elbow with your family could perhaps feel somewhat confining. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t…especially, when on a long passage and the kids have run out of books. Or you’re stuck in a marina with water too murky for swimming. Fortunately, those moments are just that: moments in a much larger continuum. More often, we are anchored along a pristine beach on an uninhabited island with nature as our backyard. Then your living space feels nothing short of huge.

Living aboard a sailboat distills life to its most basic elements.  Our catamaran provides shelter, fuel and water. Using a black-box process known as reverse osmosis, we desalinate sea water for drinking, cooking and showers.  The trio of solar, wind and fossil fuels (diesel and propane) meets our power needs.  Environmentally, our footprint is quite small. Discounting the glaring fact that our boat is a gigantic hunk of plastic and foam, we use very little fossil fuel. Our solar panels collect enough energy to run the autopilot, navigation system and our computers.  In 2 months we’ve consumed just 100 gallons of gas.  Propane runs the stove and grill. A large cylinder will last for the length of our trip. One significant downside is trash. Few Caribbean islands recycle. A couple places recycle aluminum cans, larger ones glass. No one recycles paper.

Our clothing is minimal and highly functional. We live in swim suits and sun shirts. Hats and polarized sunglasses are important too. When in town, we have one “nice” outfit for going out to dinner. After all, the Caribbean makes Tahoe look dressy.  It’s the only place I’ve been where shoes are still optional. Each of us stores our few belongings in a small clothes locker measuring about 2’x3’.  Our inability to access a Laundromat provides additional incentive to keep our clothing simple. Often laundry is done by hand; other times we haul it to the nearest Laundromat. We almost always eschew the dryer in favor of the clothes line. An hour in the hot Caribbean sun will dry just about anything, while the wind whips away the wrinkles.

Our days are tranquil, but full.  If the local roosters’ screeching doesn’t wake us, dawn does. Normally, we start with breakfast followed by a school task such as journaling. If we are staying put, the beach is our first stop, slotting outdoor time to coincide with the weaker morning sun. Between the hours of 11-3, we devote ourselves to activities such as school, reading, art projects, email, laundry and bread baking.  In the late afternoon, the kids sail in the dingy, snorkel or build more sandcastles. Often we swim into shore for exercise instead of using the outboard. The kids will stay outside until dinner time.

If we happen to be in town, we might throw in a trip to the Laundromat, grocery store or an outing for ice cream. These errands, which are completed quickly with a car, can take all day when on foot with backpacks. Meal planning, or better yet a well-stocked pantry coupled with creativity in the kitchen, is critical as we shop for groceries only once every 2 to 3 weeks. Passage days are the toughest since they limit us to Liberator’s back deck and interior. 

The kids amuse themselves day after day with snorkel gear, a sailing dingy, art supplies, access to a computer, e Readers and the great outdoors.  Zoe and JT have filled in the vacuum left from their overscheduled lives with old passions combined with new interests. JT has become a proficient climber of anything on the boat that can be scaled, and an avid reader. He has also taught himself to dive. Zoe pens story after story and has started a business selling bracelets and watercolor paintings. So far she’s made $20, learned to make a spreadsheet to track her profits and gained the confidence to sell things boat to boat in the dingy.  Admittedly, computer games sometimes fill the gaps. JT finally maxed out on Rusted Warfare, so now everyone but me plays Open RA. Generally though, we relish the simple rhythm of our days. Of course, we sometimes get on each other’s nerves, but on balance we have grown closer to them as have they with one another.

 

Bahamas at last

During the first 20 hours of 30 hour passage from Turks and Caicos to the Bahamas, we sail without encountering another vessel. The stars, away from any source of light, shine brilliantly.  We arrive at Conception, a nature preserve, to decompress from our period of confinement. Crystal clear light blue water and powdery white sand greet us.  The water’s hue is as clear as a pool: from 150 feet to shore one can see the entire length and the slope of the sand as cants up to the beach.  

Surrounded by such beauty, we fritter away a couple days building sand castles, diving for sand dollars and strolling the beach. One day we chance upon a school(?) of squid drifting along. What oddly misshapen creatures. When approached, they tighten formation; when chased they streak away at an astonishing speed, changing from a deep purple to silver. JT inadvertently scares them into squirting ink by jumping into the water near them.

After Conception, we sail into Elizabeth Harbor, Georgetown breaking our weeks of solitude.  This popular wintering spot for cruisers contains some 50 or more boats of every shape and size. With so many boats, we are surprised and disappointed to find not a single cruising family with kids close in age to Zoe and JT. The weather forces us to stay a few days and during that time we come to appreciate the breadth of activities available here: beach volleyball, a town with a decent grocery store, a library for book swaps, a lovely ocean beach with body surfing just a short hike away, a loggerhead turtle who enjoys nibbling the sea grass near our boat, the rays who will eat out of one’s hand if one is brave enough to offer them food, the cave snorkel with huge Atlantic spade fish (envision a foot and half long version of your aquarium angel fish). With time, Elizabeth Harbor has grown on us and we’ve come to appreciate why so many choose to winter here.

 

So...What exactly do you do all day?

Our friends frequently ask us this question. It’s understandable. Liberator, after all measures 43’ long by half as wide. One imagines that living knee to elbow with your family could perhaps feel somewhat confining. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t…especially, when on a long passage and the kids have run out of books. Or you’re stuck in a marina with water too murky for swimming. Fortunately, those moments are just that: moments in a much larger continuum. More often, we are anchored along a pristine beach on an uninhabited island with nature as our backyard. Then your living space feels nothing short of huge.

Living aboard a sailboat distills life to its most basic elements.  Our catamaran provides shelter, fuel and water. Using a black-box process known as reverse osmosis, we desalinate sea water for drinking, cooking and showers.  The trio of solar, wind and fossil fuels (diesel and propane) meets our power needs.  Environmentally, our footprint is quite small. Discounting the glaring fact that our boat is a gigantic hunk of plastic and foam, we use very little fossil fuel. Our solar panels collect enough energy to run the autopilot, navigation system and our computers.  In 2 months we’ve consumed just 100 gallons of gas.  Propane runs the stove and grill. A large cylinder will last for the length of our trip. One significant downside is trash. Few Caribbean islands recycle. A couple places recycle aluminum cans, larger ones glass. No one recycles paper.

Our clothing is minimal and highly functional. We live in swim suits and sun shirts. Hats and polarized sunglasses are important too. When in town, we have one “nice” outfit for going out to dinner. After all, the Caribbean makes Tahoe look dressy.  It’s the only place I’ve been where shoes are still optional. Each of us stores our few belongings in a small clothes locker measuring about 2’x3’.  Our inability to access a Laundromat provides additional incentive to keep our clothing simple. Often laundry is done by hand; other times we haul it to the nearest Laundromat. We almost always eschew the dryer in favor of the clothes line. An hour in the hot Caribbean sun will dry just about anything, while the wind whips away the wrinkles.

Our days are tranquil, but full.  If the local roosters’ screeching doesn’t wake us, dawn does. Normally, we start with breakfast followed by a school task such as journaling. If we are staying put, the beach is our first stop, slotting outdoor time to coincide with the weaker morning sun. Between the hours of 11-3, we devote ourselves to activities such as school, reading, art projects, email, laundry and bread baking.  In the late afternoon, the kids sail in the dingy, snorkel or build more sandcastles. Often we swim into shore for exercise instead of using the outboard. The kids will stay outside until dinner time.

If we happen to be in town, we might throw in a trip to the Laundromat, grocery store or an outing for ice cream. These errands, which are completed quickly with a car, can take all day when on foot with backpacks. Meal planning, or better yet a well-stocked pantry coupled with creativity in the kitchen, is critical as we shop for groceries only once every 2 to 3 weeks. Passage days are the toughest since they limit us to Liberator’s back deck and interior. 

The kids amuse themselves day after day with snorkel gear, a sailing dingy, art supplies, access to a computer, e Readers and the great outdoors.  Zoe and JT have filled in the vacuum left from their overscheduled lives with old passions combined with new interests. JT has become a proficient climber of anything on the boat that can be scaled, and an avid reader. He has also taught himself to dive. Zoe pens story after story and has started a business selling bracelets and watercolor paintings. So far she’s made $20, learned to make a spreadsheet to track her profits and gained the confidence to sell things boat to boat in the dingy.  Admittedly, computer games sometimes fill the gaps. JT finally maxed out on Rusted Warfare, so now everyone but me plays Open RA. Generally though, we relish the simple rhythm of our days. Of course, we sometimes get on each other’s nerves, but on balance we have grown closer to them as have they with one another.

 

Bahamas Bound

Despite the fact that we are only 5 days into a potential 7 day stay, we have to move on. Our weather window is closing and we are bound for the Exumas in the Bahamas where we will spend our final month. On the morning that we are scheduled to leave, we eat a quick breakfast and prepare the boat for passage. JT is playing on the deck when he notices and large dark shape beneath our boat. At first he thinks it’s a ray, but closer inspection reveals a dolphin. Not just any dolphin, but JoJo. According to our guidebook, JoJo is an extremely rare Atlantic bottlenose who has regularly engaged with humans since about 1985.  He is known to be very playful and he circles our boat. When we tap the water, he rises to breathe. He seems to want to engage us, or perhaps he is only curious. Apparently he has been injured numerous times by jet skis and other high speed water craft and his many scars are evident as he hangs out around our boat. He stays with us and follows us partly out of the harbor. We are so thrilled to have had this incredible encounter.

 

Turks and Caicos

The days pass in blur of long passages punctuated by brief interludes at white sandy beaches.  It takes 2.5 days to cover the 380 miles from Puerto Rico to the Turks and Caicos. The hours are spent schooling, reading and watching the undulating waves. We count the ships seen during the journey on a single hand. Our safe crossing is perhaps foretold by our departing encounter with a large pod of Atlantic bottlenose dolphins. At least 5 of them frolic in our wake and between the pontoons for a mile or so before they grow bored and veer off. The rest of the pod swims ahead waiting patiently, but doesn’t engage. Their cavorting is so playful that one cannot help but smile and laugh at them. Along with Puerto Rico, we have left behind the Caribbean Sea and entered the Atlantic Ocean. The 2-3 foot tides are the greatest evidence of the shift so far, but we know there is more weather up this way as well.

Along the crossing, Tom hooks a small tuna weighing about 8 pounds. Fresh grilled tuna is our reward when we make our landfall at Sand Cay, an uninhabited nature preserve with a blindingly white, wide sandy beach. We spend the day swimming, exploring and beach combing, activities denied to us during our confinement. Once decompressed, we embark on another full day passage to South Caicos (an unremarkable cay where we clear in) and yet another full day passage to Pine Cay on the northern part of the Caicos chain. Using the dingy to explore these shallow reef filled waters, we head for Dellis Cay. A hundred years ago, sponges were harvested here for export to Europe. A shuttered resort project stands like silent sentinels overlooking the turquoise waters. They’ve managed to complete the concrete work on 7 large buildings before the funding fell apart perhaps in 2008. We find an abundance of beautiful shells tossed up by the confluence of odd currents and tides.

The Caicos are almost entirely surrounded by reef with periodic cuts, or narrow channels. These cuts allow boats to cross the reef and access land and shelter on the inside. Just outside of this reef is quite literally a wall where the depth drops from 50 feet to 1000. At 50 feet the water is much like Tahoe and one can see the bottom. Closer to shore the water color changes from a deep blue to a pale turquoise green.  It’s so green, in fact, that at a distance it reflects onto the towering billowy clouds above, casting a green shadow onto their base.  The beaches here have the softest whitest sand: the kind that is best for building castles. 

At Provo (short for Providenciales) we have an opportunity to snorkel again. The snorkeling on our last days in Puerto Rico at Cayo Palaminos was only OK: plentiful fish, but little variety and badly damaged coral. Anything close to the main island is mobbed on weekends with boats playing too loud music. A bright spot is a tiny proverbial desert island with a single stand of brush growing in it. It is the little desert island of every cartoon…if you were stranded on a dessert island what would you bring….

Back to Provo. The reef is exceptional, despite the strong current and the sand it stirs up. In a space of 45 minutes we are treated to an astounding array of rare sea life: a spotted eagle ray, hawksbill turtle, peacock founder, gigantic sea cucumber, a small school of Atlantic spadefish (large striped angelfish looking) queen angel fish and queen triggerfish just to name a few. The variety of fish is the best we’ve seen. The coral seems pretty healthy here too.