Author: equinoxgardens@gmail.com

Often notes I make throughout a day inspire more words, but sometimes it’s nice to flit from one thing to another. In this case, the whole is a semi-snapshot of our past few days.

A friend messaged last week to say that he came face to face with a rat aboard their boat at 4am one morning (in Treasure Cay). I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and when I checked in a few days later to see if they’d gone ahead and burned the boat down, as I would have felt the need to do, it was still onboard. I guess the chewing of things directly under their bunk one night was the final straw, so they loaded the traps, and while out for dinner one night caught it. NOT before, it should be noted, they named him “Ratty” and subsequently Andy got UB40’s finest “There’s a Rat in Mi Kitchen” into all of our heads. 

We snorkeled yesterday as an unintentional drift snorkel, only after getting super far from the anchored dinghy quite quickly, and a cardio-style swim back to it for survival. Hoisted the anchor and kept the boat with us as we combed the reef again. Lots of great colors and species of coral, not so many fish. Dinghying to the site, however, I looked up to see what I thought was seaweed shooting straight up into the air. Passing by the ‘seaweed’, it turns out it was ink; we must have scared it out of an octopus while taking its daily roam up into the water column. It’ll think twice about doing that tomorrow.

Our anchored base at the moment is truly utopia. White sand as far as the eye can see, water so clear it feels like we’re bobbing on air, and a decent but easy swim in to a great sand beach. Years ago a crazy person came up to our fleet of dinghies, paddleboards and gear coming ashore on a Maine summer weekend and tried to enlighten us about a ‘protocol’ intending for only one group to be on a beach at a time. (Her family was there first, so she expected us to hoist anchors and find another island, since the half mile-long beach was apparently not large enough for two parties to enjoy.) Now in the Bahamas whenever we see a dinghy near our always-private beach we say “Hey! There’s a protocol!”. But of course we’d welcome others, because there is no protocol, and that lady just needed to cool her jets.

I’ve realized that one of the many components of my enjoyment of Chickadee time is that I’m mostly barefoot. I remember with great discomfort (-shiver-) the first year’s return and the need for socks and shoes feeling so icky and terrible. Even though feet are the worst, I vote for them to be naked.

While at Black Point Settlement on Great Guana Cay (that’s a mouthful), we met up with three other boats from Maine, including a family who lives quite close to us on the coast. (First ‘boat’ kid, although she is 15, and only visiting on a break from school.) It makes sense that people are fleeing northern climes, for sure, and coastal living would perhaps lend itself to sailing more than say, for Iowans, but where are all of the folks from the rest of coastal New England? It’s funny that most sailors down here tend to be Canadian or Mainers, and if we play our wish cards right and we can slip the Canadian border down just a skosh to just below Kittery, we’ll be one and the same at some point, right?

One of Andy’s favorite parts of the Exumas is the fact that we get ocean sunsets every night. Down here below Staniel, there are a lot fewer cruisers, so now we get ocean sunsets on a vast open horizon, with no other boats on the sightline. For having seen ‘the green flash’ only once definitively in our first seven years (the year we went to the Berry Islands), we are now racking up green flashes left right and center. Sometimes less flash and more ‘green fizzle’, but green just the same. Cloud formations on the horizon are important. All are stunningly beautiful. 

Though I can’t imagine any diner would prefer to eat warm, or especially cold foods that are intended to be served hot, the joke this year is that I’m trying to burn everyone’s faces with the volcanic temperatures in which I’m serving our meals. Apparently none of us can wait that reasonable thirty seconds to let something cool before digging in? And I’ve always preferred near-boiling soups and stews- why are we just noticing this now? But wow, it’s happening, and always, I might add, worth it.

Today we’ll make our way from what I really think is my favorite anchorage of all time on Big Farmer’s Cay south to Rudder Cay, which is likely our southernmost point for 2023. Rudder is a beautiful spot as well, and has a great spot to snorkel, if a bit ‘sharky’, so hopefully we’ll time the tides and be able to hit it at slack water. Andy showed me a video of a 12’ hammerhead swimming very close to a pier somewhere in the Exumas. A dog, in an attempt to heckle/attack the shark, jumped in on it. Whoever posted the video claims that everyone/thing made it out alive, but we didn’t the see the end, and I’m not so sure I believe that. Interesting to theorize Darwin at work though. How many dogs will jump into shark-infested waters before the genes telling them not to evolve? Hopefully not many, but I’m not sure I believe that either. Anyway, I won’t be attacking any hammerheads on my snorkeling adventures, and I’m hoping they’ll return the favor.

After an unusual-for-the-Bahamas stint of westerly winds with northerly components (I hate to say this, knowing what our northern brethren is dealing with, but dang, it was cold), the trade winds seem to be back in service, and anchorages here make sense again.

We sailed into Black Point Settlement on Great Guana Cay yesterday afternoon, and from here, we haven’t decided on what to do or where to go. (And as an aside while I sit and write, the large open skiffs full of workers tucked into their hoodies zip away out of the harbor to the north, likely bound for Staniel; basically I’m watching the Bahamian version of the Ellsworth to MDI commute. They know where they’re going, at least.)

Touching a great deal of wood here, we’ve had minor boat issues and decent timing for weather for hops to and fro, so we’re further south earlier than we’ve ever been on a Chickadee trip. Since our plan on the other end is to be able to take a bit more time on the northbound trip, and not be rushing as we so often are, we’re still factoring that in when we’ve realized that we have a bit of time to revisit this section of islands.

In years past, we’ve made swift work of getting to Georgetown, and had simple stops en route without a whole lot of exploring. Since Georgetown isn’t a goal this time around (although from the lack of kid boats we’ve seen, we’re assuming they’re all there, so maybe it should be?), we’ll poke around a bit and see what we see. We snorkeled Staniel’s famous Thunderball grotto (see James Bond for detail), and it reminded Violet of her love for snorkeling. Put one down for the goal sheet!

Black Point, from a cruiser’s standpoint, is known for its easy laundry access, Lorraine’s Cafe, Lorraine’s mother’s bread, and for our family, a crazy good sea glassing beach on the ocean side. (Also probably other services that Lorraine and her family provide that we’ve yet to learn about.) Our plan today after V finishes her schooling is to hit the bread and the beach; Bahamian bread fresh out of the oven is not to be missed, and lord knows those many, many jars of sea glass won’t fill themselves. (We’ll never DO anything with the sea glass, of course, but the collecting part is certainly therapeutic.)

Until the rest of the family is up and at ’em, I suppose looking at the charts and spinning the wheel is also part of the day. Until next time, wherever we are!

Since today is a day for laundry, taking on water and finding some fresh veggies in spite of the fact that the mailboat (with the stores’ stores) doesn’t come until Thursday, I’ll join back in with a load of photos from our week in the Exumas Land & Sea Park.

As always, it was a great time sailing between islands. It was beautiful, it was windy, and we hiked, swam, crafted and read (Chickadee record for me of reading two books in a single day was a nice nod to how relaxing it was). Saw a few ocean sunsets, met a number of cruisers (still no kid boats, sad to say), and enjoyed the time of not rushing anywhere.

After two long days of travel, we have made it to the beautiful Exumas, and we’re bobbing on anchor off of Highbourne Cay, our ‘usual’ first stop in the chain.

After a fun Sunday evening reuniting with friends with Southwest Harbor connections (they bought the first Hinckley that Andy and I ran together, and in fact it was on a mooring not far from us in Hope Town), we finally had the drenching, “fill the tanks and a few more jerry cans to boot” downpour. Monday morning Andy woke early, checked the weather and realized it was a great window for us, and also the only window for about a week. We made for it.

A long (twelve hour) day of motor sailing with the wind behind us, the major success of that leg was catching not one but two small mahi. The first was small enough that we decided to throw it back, and then began to question our logic, just as a second hit the line. Apparently the cedar plugs we were using were enticing, which is good to note. It’d been a long time (years) since we’ve caught a mahi, and with his other trips fishing with friends and not a lot of catching, Andy was thinking he was the curse on the boat. Now we’ve realized it must have been Lily. (Ha! KIDDING, Bird!) Anyway, after a moderate blood bath on the first landing (the hook must have hit just so, and the spray was impressive), we sharpened up our act and had it tidy and filleted and in the fridge and freezer in no time.

Tucking into an anchorage south of Egg Island rather than going into Spanish Wells’ ‘inlet’ after dark, we had a quick but great night’s sleep before Andy woke before dawn and sailed us off the anchor. A great wind angle, a little bit of sea, but a beautiful day’s sail ducking through the coral heads on the Yellow Bank before dropping anchor here. It was both a mental and physical game of gymnastics for Andy at the helm (I was too busy reading, of course) weaving around the coral all day. Our bimini over the cockpit (ahem, keeping the readers in the shade, as we wish) means a lot of popping in and out of the cockpit to spot the coral heads, and then maneuvering above or below them, while negotiating the sails. It looked exhausting (I thought, as I continued to read my book).

We had a quick trip ashore to grab the last few bits of produce and dairy for at least a week, since Highbourne’s store is all there is until Staniel Cay, with the length of our favorite Land & Sea Park in between. Being able to comfortably enjoy the park without running out of things is key, and Violet having green apples and me having half and half for my coffee is key to our comfort. In that sense, mission accomplished.

We also hung with the resident nurse sharks for a bit, and noted with a slight chill that the large bull shark we had seen the last time we were here is still lurking in the deeper waters off of the nurse’s shallow bank. No fishermen throwing carcasses while we were there, but the bull was lying in wait just the same. Pass on the harbor swim, that’s for sure.

In looking at the charts and plotting our general course, we’re thinking we might try some new, more obscure anchorages this year. We’ll have to hit up our favorites, of course (Shroud for its mangrove exploration, Hawksbill for its moon-like sand flats, Warderick Wells for its everything), but with a less aggressive feel to our schedule due to not meeting up with other boats or specific kid-boats, and with Violet not really caring about activities one way or another, we’ll go a bit rogue on our usual plans.

It’s just so different being three. Violet is more subdued, for sure, but the sense of traveling from some ‘thing’ to another is less apparent as a guiding force. Lily wasn’t ever insistent upon doing certain things at any point, but she is the kid who was always up for any adventure (hence her current position), and knowing that she would fold Violet into that excitement made wherever we went such an easy stop. What Andy and I are learning is that we aren’t great Lily stand-ins; Violet doesn’t so much care how excited WE are for any given experience.

That said, we are finding that now that our kids are bigger, three on the boat is easier to manage. Last year our “we’re gonna need a bigger boat!” motto came out often, as we bumped into each other in the salon, fought for coveted cockpit and movie-watching seats, and struggled to get the dinghy up on a plane. And while Andy and I are extremely jealous of the fact that V gets a queen-sized bunk to herself while we jockey for position in the 24″ width of the foot of our v-berth, Chickadee is a great boat for three people.

As we venture into the Land & Sea Park soon, we’ll likely be without WiFi, so unless we find a great new nook of service in a new anchorage, we’ll see you in Staniel!

After two full days of high winds and rain squalls, we woke to the blissful sound of silence in the harbor. For a moment I thought I’d simply gone deaf, but the lack of air flow through the hatch reminded me that the front had in fact passed. Naturally we then opted to swap that silence for the hum of the engine, taking advantage of the one window of time we’ll have to make our jump further south. If we sit, we wait another week or so, and while we love Hope Town, the draw of the Exumas is much greater.

So now I sit in the cockpit watching the sun come up over Elbow Cay as Andy bustles around on deck setting up the preventers (we’re predicted to have winds behind us as we head across from Little Harbor to Eleuthera). A few hours on the ‘inside’ (in the Sea of Abaco), and perhaps eight or nine for the crossing. We may try a little fishing, and we’ll definitely do a lot of eating, reading, and possibly napping. (It shouldn’t be a real mystery as to why I love being offshore so much.)

The irony of my excitement for those activities is great- we have actually been sitting on the boat for the past 48 hours, with the exception of one short walk ashore (had to see if the legs still worked), doing just those things. I read, wrote, napped, cooked, tidied, we played cards, watch some shows, I plowed my way through some procrastinated bookkeeping, and Andy spliced a new line for our main sheet. When on the first day Andy got a bit antsy to brave the spray and leave the boat, Violet and I calmed him with blank faces and slow “Huh?”s. We stayed put.

Day two brought little respite of the wind, and in fact more rain, but we finally caved and had a slow and exhausting walk ashore. Turns out our legs DID work, but we didn’t really want to support them in that option. Back to our nests we went.

Fingers crossed for a mahi today. THAT’LL make the nest complete.

Once again we find ourselves enjoying the good protection of Hope Town harbor to wait out a blow. While our northern parts are getting nailed with wind chills into the -30s, we’re getting the southern end of that front, with high winds and if we’re lucky, a bit of rain. The winds have been high and gusty through the night, but we only got about an hour of rain. Good enough to wash the decks down at least, so now we’ll plug the scuppers and open the deck fills, so we can watch it fall and flow right into our tanks. So satisfying, especially when that burble tells us they’re full. We obviously take what we can get when it comes to fresh water down here, but rainwater is much preferred over the R/O water that most places offer.

We had a quick jump from Man O’War to get here on Thursday, and have been in our little Hope Town heaven ever since. The town has made huge strides since last year, with more buildings renovated, more Dorian-strewn lots cleared, and not one but two new ice cream shops have opened, including one with Japanese-style cold stone rolled ice cream. Of all of the treats a cruiser might covet, something that is hard to fit and hard to maintain temperature in your freezer is high on the list. We love our ice cream stops.

We had a nice dip in the pool at the marina, reassessed the laundry situation, and reunited with friends who spend their winters here. Yesterday morning we joined a pickle ball group for a couple of hours, and had a great time playing and trying to figure out the rules and scoring with very patient fellow players. Our Wifi has been fluky, so we all jump to work when it’s good to fill in the rest of our days.

Many a green turtle has popped their head up around the boat since we’ve been here, which feels like more than ‘normal’, and a large non-nurse shark sped by us in the dinghy as well. We have heard rumors of two big bull sharks claiming the anchorage just outside of the harbor for their new territory, but also that the shark activity in the harbor was growing steadier, likely from the sport fishermen tossing carcasses and entrails overboard as an enticing snack. The animal we saw was not a bull, but perhaps a lemon shark, and either way, I didn’t want to pet it.

I listened to a fun piece on sharks on the radio a few months ago, and one marine biologist told the host that there was a great way to tell if there was a shark in the water near you: stick your finger in the water and then in your mouth. If it tastes salty, there’s a shark nearby. (And then he went on to say that even if it wasn’t, chances were still decent.) I’m fascinated by sharks and wouldn’t say that I am afraid of them, especially as seen from a dinghy, but the years down here have certainly taught us all a healthy respect, and all about risk management when we’re in the water.

The winds are howling, it’s starting to rain, and per usual, wee little Chickadee is sailing back and forth on the mooring thanks to her wing keel, always keeping us on the move. We’ll stay tucked in here until tomorrow at least, and then continue to head south to wait for a good crossing window from Little Harbor down to Eleuthera.

While Lily is far from being as happy as can be, she is finding some sense of rhythm to her days, and while not completely at ease, gaining comfort and confidence in her routine there. Just having her body adjust to the cultural norms of meals at such different times of day must be exhausting, let alone the brainpower for the language. We speak with her every day, and it’s been a massive relief to see even the smallest shifts to the positive.

For now, it’s a gaming and reading, and hoping that the internet is strong enough for steaming movies kind of day.

Waking in the night last night for my routine “we went to bed quite early and I’ve had my six hours so NOW what” schtick, I realized that it was close to prime time for viewing Comet C/2022 E3, which I had been reading about earlier in the day. Balancing on a winch and trying to put the binoculars to my sleep-worn contacts, I swiped around in the sky for a bit in the general area of Polaris, and had no luck. I determined, as I crawled back into bed just moments later, that I’d have made one hell of an astronomer. Perseverance and patience through and through. And we astronomers can blame things on the moon being too bright, I’m pretty sure.

We now sit on a familiar dock in Man O’War cay in front of a friend’s house. One week out and we haven’t been at anchor yet; I’m starting to twitch, but it’s been nice being able to visit with people as we make our way through the Abacos. It’s just remains a battle with wind (the hatches are pretty much designed for airflow only coming from the bow, in case that’s not obvious) and the bugs. Violet’s patchwork of baking soda paste to soothe her no-see-um bites is starting to make her look like a chicken pox patient with no hope for recovery.

We had a really lovely shoot across/down from Treasure Cay yesterday. No wind for sailing, but one of those rare-in-the-winter flat calm days on the Sea of Abaco where you can see the bottom far out beyond the boat. To come into Man O’War just as an explosive sunset lit up the sky was a welcomed topper.

Despite best efforts of errands and tracking down the air freight company in Treasure yesterday, our package/part did not arrive, so we’re sort of dancing around within a ferry’s reach until we sort out another plan. Throw in some strongish easterlies this weekend, and Hope Town is our likely plan, if we can find a mooring. No hook, but at least we’ll be swinging in the breeze!

Most years we tend to move mountains each January to find homes for the menagerie of pets we have on land in Maine. The dog is easy, the cat a bit less so, the fish theoretically very simple, but the chickens are a bit sticky, as they tend to be homebodies and also don’t love playing with others.

With a bit of effort we find a way, and then come down here completely pet-less, which is really quite lovely, and also a bit sad. When you’re used to the tapping claws on the wood floor, the tail thwumping against the walls, and the cat yelling at you because he’s always on the wrong side of the door, it feels like we’re missing components sometimes. (Also after our most recent grocery run, we’re REALLY missing the almost-free fresh eggs.)

A few islands can be measured in the number of stray cats lolling about in shady spots (and Violet does indeed count), iguanas are spotted around as well, but there are always dogs. Most can fit into the same category: remarkably healthy-looking strays, all of roughly the same size, similar coat and body shape, and thanks to a fellow sailor and dear friend who introduced us to the idea, we call them all Ginger. (Most, but certainly not all, have that general coat color.)

We end up finding a Ginger on almost every spot we land, and if we’re lucky, she enjoys the company of a family missing their hound. Ginger has found us in Treasure Cay, and sits on the dock waiting for us to pop our heads out, so we can give her a bit of love (and also a bit of cheese, or whatever nibble we have). She started to walk into town with us yesterday, but clearly knows the demarcations of her territory, so peeled off at a certain point. She’ll be back again today, I’m sure.

The local dogs are all called potcakes, which doesn’t roll off the tongue, but refers to the sticky cake of rice burned onto the bottom of the pot that people would feed to them. As one who loves burned food, any house I would have lived in likely wouldn’t have participated in that naming, and perhaps we would have gone with something I don’t enjoy, like “leftovers”, which makes more sense for strays anyway. (Wait… NO one asked me?! Huh.)

In a sharp and often miserable contrast to the potcakes, the wave of Canadian and northern-climed American retirees that flock here tend to bring yappy dogs that find their voice whenever any occasion calls, such as a Tuesday at 11:19am, or when a leaf blows by. Our friends here named one such pack The Jerks, and now it’s so wonderfully stuck in my brain, it’ll never leave. Instead of gliding gracefully along the roadsides like the Leftovers (ahem, Potcakes) do, they ride with clothing and matching harnesses in the laps of their people while out for morning golf cart rides. And they bark. Oh my gosh with the barking…

In non-canine news, our Echo Charger comes today (it charges our starting battery from the house bank, exciting stuff), and we’ll do our ‘Big Shop’ to really fill the holds with dry goods, since the Exumas (and anywhere much further south that we’ll stop) will only have little, very expensive options. Hopefully a propane fill as well.

We’ll then run over to Man O’ War to see friends for a night, before hopefully finding a mooring to tuck into Hope Town for a big blow this weekend. All of the little things, hopefully fitting into place. Now to see if Ginger wants to go for a walk…

We flew the coop yesterday, and had a very uneventful trip (the best kind!) from Green Turtle to Treasure Cay via Don’t [Hit the Giant] Rock Passage. Pouring over charts and seeing the shallows and coral heads marked makes things feel so obvious that it’s easy to forget that once you’re out there, it’s all just shades of blue. Being able to properly read the waters is an important thing here, as winds and tides shift the sand so often. And then of course it’s really only easiest to do with the sun directly overhead and not a cloud in the sky nor a ripple on the surface. Since that doesn’t happen too often, we end up putting a lot of trust into our navigation for ‘first routes’, and then tend to rely on our routes set for return visits to certain areas. That then allows us to gain confidence in reading the same waters from different weather and sun angles, adding to the mental database. (It’s chaos up here in at least THIS brain!) What’s extremely helpful is a very obvious above-the-surface point of reference, such as Don’t Rock itself. Kiiiiind of hard to miss. (Although there was a fairly large cabin cruiser stove up on a reef not far from there, and I would have thought that THAT would have been hard to miss, too.)

Anyhoo, we steamed through with ease and tied up alongside friends, whose boat makes our lil’ Chickadee seem even smaller than it’s starter to feel.

One of Treasure Cay’s many beautiful beaches is only minutes away by foot, and with the company of said friends, bikes, paddle boards and an outdoor shower on the dock on hand…waiting for a part to arrive from Florida will have never been so easy.

Post note: our electrical gremlin DID show up en route yesterday. I think we have to give him a name. (And more on that saga at a later date…)

A steamy wake up after a dousing last night, but the sun is out and hopefully it’ll burn off the lingering no-see-ums that seem to be finding me for breakfast.

We had quite a lazy Sunday (I write with serene nostalgia of the day Violet and I had as Andy recalls his hours replacing the external regulator and wiring harness on the alternator while also equalizing the house battery bank). SOME of us had a lazy Sunday, anyway?

We took advantage of the morning temperatures and took a nice walk in the neighborhood before breakfast, and V and I read in the breezy shade before dinghying over to White Sound so we could hit up the pool at the Green Turtle Club and continue to lounge for lunch.

We came home, I swapped Andy for Violet as my dinghy companion, and a harbor putt putt to check out cruising boats commenced. Perusing Yachtworld is almost a part time job for us, dreaming of cruising the world in a boat that works for our various needs, and it’s fun to see options right in front of us for inspiration.

We dinghied into town for dinner at Sundowners, one of Violet’s favorites (and what was a very steady post-Dorian option, with their tarped-up deck and frozen pizzas as some of the only food and accommodations in New Plymouth to start). We planted a Wild Acadia sticker amongst the sport-fishing boat stickers, so people could sit and wonder where Trenton, Maine is as they sip their rum, and then waited out a series of downpours before hopping in the quite-damp dinghy home.

Overall the day brought a elephant to reside on my chest, weighing down the levity of my own surroundings that was so clearly on my plate right in front of me. Lily is fully in the transitional phase of being completely overwhelmed by her situation. New house, new people to live with, new language, new cultural traditions (including late meals and long visits), and the nerves of starting school today. I know in my rational brain that it’ll pass, she’ll gain a comfort and confidence that will at first be manageable, and will turn to ease, but it’s just so hard to see your kid sad, especially so far away. Which then becomes hard to focus on anything else at all.

She IS still very much her hilarious self when reporting on various situations, which brings relief. Her family was visiting another family at one point, and we asked when we’d get a chance to FaceTime. She couldn’t get a handle on how much longer they’d be there, and finally just gave up. “Europeans like to do things for a loooooooong time.” (In the end they had a seven hour visit. She wasn’t joking! (Also do they have fewer people diagnosed with ADD/ADHD? Seems likely.))

So today we head out of Green Turtle, taking a new-to-us route not ‘around the Whale’ but behind it on a line called Don’t Rock Passage. Previous to Dorian the waters were far too shallow for us to pass, but the storm dug out a new, deeper trench for crossing. Perhaps that elephant will lighten up a bit while focusing on not hitting coral heads?