As we quietly ease into 2020 and make our ‘to Chickadee’ piles larger with each passing day, the trip anticipation builds and the mental shift of being aboard starts to seep into our psyches. This year the anticipation is multi-layered with the fact that we’ll be heading to the Abacos post-Dorian, and are about to witness the damage and destruction of homes, habitats, villages and favored Bahamian spots that mean so much to us and our experience.
Hurricane Dorian sat over the Abacos in early September for days on end, hammering the islands with sustained winds of 180 mph, making it the deadliest and most destructive event in the Bahamas on record. By now you’ve surely seen images of the devastation, and the country is of course still reeling from overwhelming loss, not to mention the logistical difficulties of rebuilding homes, communities and any sense of security they once had. Marsh Harbour, our ‘hub’ for groceries, supplies of any nautical nature, propane, hardware, etc., is simply gone. (One notable and thankful exception is Maxwell’s, the largest grocery store in the area. We heard that its roof was damaged, but they made it a priority and the store was opened a month or so later.) Flying into Marsh and getting a ride to the ferry terminal is something that we’re mentally preparing to be gut-wrenching and shocking, despite the photos we’ve seen. A completely different landscape.
Chickadee was stored on Green Turtle Cay, and its proximity to the largest swath of the storm resulted in unprecedented damage for the island, but based on photos and reports, it suffered a much lesser degree of total loss and inhabitability. Which is the good news, all things being relative. Our first viewing of the boat was from a series of aerial shots taken of the entire yard, and it was indeed shocking. (One such photo below.) Boats strewn, knocked over, tangles of rigs… I had a hard day taking that in, especially with such sporadic follow-up of information specific to our boats (how could anyone offer it, anyway?! They were trying to simply survive the aftermath..). I wept for the people, I anthropomorphized our boat (even more deeply than usual!) felt anguish for what she’d been through, and I outright sobbed thinking of the girls’ artwork and our years of making Chickadee a home, all down below in a salty wet mess.
It’s very easy to put it all into perspective now, recognizing of course that we have warm dry beds to sleep in, running water and food on our table, but the thought of our time aboard ending in this way was a lot to process for me. It’s no secret that we work so hard for the ten months that we’re home with our eyes on the prize for the two aboard, but the grief at the thought of it ending was a wake-up call about how much it actually means to me.
It was then that the resolve to come up with a plan kicked in. We heard reports of the yard coming back to life; employees were safe, equipment was sorted and boats were being righted in a steady and systematic way. We are part of an online group for AYS (Abaco Yacht Service) boat owners that the yard was kind enough to update as each set of boats went up. Other boat owners were also gracious enough to share photos of their recon trips, which always included a list of requested shots.
In this way, coupled with a local acquaintance’s photos and assessment, we were able to unfold a plan. Chickadee had fallen down, but she’s getting back up again!
More on our detailed plans and progress to follow.
