FIRST LIGHT

We departed Chub Cay as the winds began to moderate and headed to the cut between Cat and Gun Cays in the Biminis. This necessitated transiting the Great Bahama Bank, which is a misnomer as it is mostly barely 2 meters deep, but the aqua color is truly amazing and the seas there so slight it gives one time to monitor the fathometer closely. We motor sailed to make miles, managed not to find the bottom and anchored well after dark in what was supposed to be the lee of Cat Island. Around midnight the wind went easterly, which NO one had predicted, not the GFS, not the NAM, not Chris Parker … sigh. Still, that “inferior” anchor of ours held nicely and we were able to get a few hours sleep amid the noise and bounces.

At first light we were up and off, careening thru the cut between Cat and Gun. It is a wild little bit of the water – narrow, reef-lined and with a very strong current. After a close encounter with “GOOD WATER IS TO PORT!!” we slipped thru the notch, into the deep blue of the Atlantic and set a course for Ft. Lauderdale – south of where we wanted to be, but it gave us a better angle on the wind and waves.

Initially the northerly swells, coming down from the storms in the Northeast, were only about 2 meters high. Long and consistent with a nice 10 second period, First Light slipped nicely up their faces and down into their troughs with little effort. By midday the swells were 3 meters; an unending series of huge hillocks off our starboard bow. It was like hiking in the canyons, up and over steep inclines, down into ravines and up again … only deep blue instead of rust red. The wind was a pleasant 10 kts from the Nor’Northwest, just enough to keep our reefed main filled and the boat stable. As we loped along, within a matter of a minute, the wind piped up to 26 kts right out of the north… damn! Wind-driven waves leapt up on each swell, now 4 meters high, driving spray across the bow and over the dodger, and still our little boat strode on at nearly 8 kts, unperturbed. Not so the cat who carefully, unhappily slipped down from the seat and settled on the cockpit sole between Harv’s feet. This went on for a good hour and then, just as quickly as it had come up, as we crossed the western wall of the Gulf Stream, the swell diminished to less than a meter and the wind mellowed back to 10 kts northerly.

Ft. Lauderdale was a zoo! Huge mega-yachts honking at the huge mega-yachts in front of them to get out of their way; little fish boats and dingies zipping hither and thither; yachties like ourselves just trying to thread our way past the dog show of Great Danes and Chihuahuas and get into our slip. When we were finally all-fast, toasting another successful passage, the wind and waves and wild cuts melted into oblivion. If not finally home we were close! (Hallie and Lily clued us into the fact that this was not only the beginning of a long weekend, it would be capped by Mardi Gras – no wonder everyone was nuts!)

The next day was an internet/phone frenzy of trucker schedules, boat yard blessings, flights, hotels (there are only 8 pet-friendly hotels in all of West Palm Beach, and not all of them accept cats!), car rentals, pick-ups and deliveries, boat wash-downs, not to mention wonderful long conversations with family; by the close of day we were close to insanity. But there was one more long haul.

Rather than experience “the holiday” there, and not wanting to bounce on the bounding blue, we opted to make the haul to West Palm Beach up the narrow moss-green-velvet thread that is the Inter-Coastal Waterway (ICW) – which is basically a long ditch. We would have to traverse 20 bridges in the process, some whose openings are timed nicely, others you have to dawdle along or crank up the warp speed to make. It was a fascinating ride, not the least of which due to the residences that line the shore, cheek to jowl in an unending queue. Some are enormous condo-creations that rise to immense heights, some are palatial multi-story-arched-windowed affairs with fountains, fire pits, fabulous statuary and always the ubiquitous mega-yacht tied up in front; some are modest but tastefully appointed low slung ranches with wide eaves and colorful-cushioned chaises set in convivial groupings; and a few are weather-beaten bungalows whose patios are strewn with fading plastic furniture. It gives the imagination something to work on … while counting down the bridges.

And finally, we are snuggly tied up at the not-nearly complete New Riviera Beach Municipal Marina Complex. Alas for us all, The Tiki Bar, that icon of dockside dining, has closed. Only piles of dirt remain where once one could schlep up in filthy boat-work clothes and rub shoulders with aristocratic-looking couples while everyone happily sucked down tasty beverages, noshed on fabulous fish or conch and shared sea-stories; the quintessential boating experience now sadly lost to ‘progress’. It was depressing to find it gone. The dock man says everyone feels the same. But we trudge on… for the next week we’ll be removing everything topside; Single Sideband, sails, boom, lines, radar, dodger, damned-dingy-motor, extra anchor, everything must be stowed below. In the lulls we make friends with neighbors, mostly those heading east, waiting for a window and many anxious for knowledge. (The pic is of a tiny turtle, rescued from the dredge-spoils who is bound for a care facility until his eye heals.) We haul the boat out a week from today, have the mast lowered and standing rigging coiled and marked. The trucker arrives on Wednesday the 25th. We see friends for a day or so and then we will close this adventure by flying home on Saturday the 28th. Thanks to all who followed our crazy travels and thanks to all who commented on the blogs or sent emails. Staying close makes the faraway places all the more sweet.