Life is all about balance. There is yin & yang, black & white and heaven & hell. Suddenly our sailing, much to our discontent has entered a world of balance. If the passage from Puerto Rico to the Bahamas was the passage from heaven, then our first passage within the Bahamas was the passage from hell.

Things all started to go array as we returned from a romantic early morning walk along the deserted coastline of the West Plata Cay where we had arrived the day before. When we turned around to get back to Ruffian we commented that the wind was from the wrong direction and much more than forecast, an hour later as we neared Thug our hearts were in our mouths as we found our home, Ruffian, on a lee shore and just yards from rocks and reefs.

Battling the waves that were crashing onto the beach we got thug out to Ruffian. There we started the job of getting her ready for sea as she bounced around on the waves that we had no protection from. Our plan was now to head 100 miles west and around the top of Long Island to the little settlement and harbour of Salt Pond before the weather turned really bad and worst of all to the west and then north making all the ports around us untenable.

We sailed into the night and nothing wanted to give us an easy night as sea. The winds were from the wrong direction, we had ball lightening to both the north and south of us and cargo ships always wanted to be in the same piece of water as us. To top everything however, when we were expecting no wind, we had enough to blow cats off chains (where does that saying come from) and we were getting further and further behind schedule.

At 2am we made the decision to abandon Plan A. Plan B, diverting south to a tiny anchorage of Little Harbour was conceived and at dawn we discovered why it was called little harbour. It was indeed little and after running aground we decided this was no place to ride out the easterly that we were expecting in 24 hours time. Time to form Plan C. The only problem now was that the wind was howling from the north and that was exactly where we wanted to go.

Plan C, had us beating north and hoping that the seas didn’t build too much making the entrance to Clarencetown a deathtrap. The seas built and as we approached on the VHF the harbour master described things to Fiona as ‘Err. Pretty bad maam. This is no place for you to be.’ That was plan C out of the window, what was going to be plan D?

As it happened Plan D was the same as Plan A, but to the mix we’d added the task ‘Riding the winds out at sea and going upwind for 60 miles’. This plan sounded like great fun, NOT, but at least it kept us safe. With the storm jib set all night we fought our way upwind with water crashing over the bow and poor Ruffian proving to be much hardier than her weakling crew.

With dawn came pilot whales and the end was in sight. We now just had to make the 3 mile long, 2 meter deep cut into the bight where Salt Pond lay. The sun was now in the wrong place, the seas were obscuring all visibility of the narrow coral strewn channel and so yet another plan and another port were abandoned. We were now getting really bored of sailing and just wanted to put the hook down and stop.

The final plan, or what we hoped would be the final plan, inspirationally named Plan E ‘The last chance saloon’, had us heading yet another 30 miles to Georgetown, the cruising centre of the Exuma’s. Our fear now though was that the entrance would be in a ‘rage’ where the waves pile up ready to roll over unsuspecting boats.

As we neared the cutting we were heartened to see another boat exiting, if they could get out we could get in. The seas were indeed piling up but we made it through, all we had to do now was avoid the shallows and get into the anchorage. This was easy enough with Fiona driving Ruffian and Iain barking headings, timings and distances at quick intervals.

After 280 miles, 3 days and 2 nights, instead of 100 miles and 1 night, we finally dropped the anchor and stopped sailing. Relief washed over us, but not enough to get rid of the smell of being soaked though for 3 days.

The sting in the tail for the ‘passage from hell’ was as we got out the celebratory beers. Instead of being ice cold they were bath water warm as the fridge had signed a pact with the devil and stopped working. Oh the joys of ocean cruising.

Now that is what I call a flat calm.


Shadows on the seabed. Quite sensational.


Hi there buddy. I’m pleased I’m not down there with you.


A fixer upper for sale on West Plata Cay.


A lone pink flamingo. Where have all your friends gone?


The remnants of the US Army & Air Force are still to be found everywhere.


Ruffian all alone.


Textbook anchoring.


The calm before the storm.


The road to nowhere. Too many corners, too much wind and always from the wrong direction.