Reflections on Hydrology from a Life Afloat (insanely long post)

Last week I gave a talk for a group of retired USGS hydrologists and geologists (actually, we were supposed to do the talk as a team, but Dan had cheered himself hoarse at the Eastport-Annapolis tug of war over the weekend and had no voice).  Less than a transcript but more than speaking notes, here's approximately what I said.

Sunrise on Factory Creek, near Beaufort, SC

Hi, I’m Jaye Lunsford and in the course of my science career I worked or supervised examples of all areas of USGS hydrology: ground water, surface water, water use, water quality. Etc.  After retirement, I learned that I could stop working as a hydrologist but I could never stop being one. Dan and I live on a sailboat and took a winter trip via boat to the Bahamas.  I’m not going to do a travelogue or talk about good food and interesting people, even though we encountered many of both.  I want to talk about some science tidbits along the way and how our hydrology background illuminated all we saw and did.

Making Our Mark

Posted: March 24, 8:21 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

There’s a tree on which cruisers have carved their names, dates, boat name, documenting they've been there. Unfortunately the practice became so popular (what is it about humans, that mandates we leave tangible proof of our passing?) that the tree died. A somewhat gentler version is now encouraged, of painting a piece of driftwood, sometimes also decorated with shells or other found items. Some of the displays are happily chaotic, like this one on the top of Boo Boo Hill on Warderick Wells Cay. (For the history buffs, the “boo” refers to the sound that the ghosts of shipwrecked sailors make, not “boo boo” as in mistake.)

Other displays are more structured; this one is at Compass Cay Marina.

Our fellow cruiser Maria Lindqvist paints their boat name, Querencia, on a piece of driftwood she found while walking along the beach.

Our own offering:

Dan hung it at Highbourne Cay, which was to be our last port of call before returning to the U.S. Early the next morning, we started our homeward journey.

THAT Blue

Posted: March 13, 10:37 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

Impossible to do it justice, that achingly, soul-searing shade of deep ocean blue 

Crossing back from Eleuthera, and there’s that blue again. Deep, luminous, transparent sapphire as we cross the mile-deep Exuma Sound westbound on a clear, sunny day. The wind is too light for sailing and again we’re alone and out of sight of land. That blue, impossible to describe with words or duplicate with pencil or crayon or paint. That blue that my friend and dock-neighbor artist Kristine Kowalski said dominated her art for months after her first ocean passage. That blue that does for your eyes what a chime or gong does for your ears – a single clear pure note that resonates within you and goes on forever.

And then a gray-green smudge on the horizon grew to a lump, several lumps, a line. The sapphire changed to turquoise as the sound became shallow toward the line of cays. We negotiated a rocky cut with swirling current, and then we were on the sheltered side of Highbourne Cay in the northern Exumas, our first stop on the route back, with the anchor set in clean sand, looking forward to a glowing sunset.

 (photo by Magda Galambos)

Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! (not us, okay? don't worry)

Posted: March 13, 10:37 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

We were witness to 3 nautical dramas in the period of a single week. The first was on a calm clear day as we were getting ready to go exploring. On the ocean horizon, a plume of very dark gray smoke rose skyward, as dense and solid as a pole or thick rope. Every fast powerboat in the marina headed out at maximum speed as the “mayday” was relayed over the VHF. A cargo boat bound for Haiti with earthquake relief supplies was burning! Fortunately, because it was a placid afternoon, there were several vessels in the area fishing, and all the people aboard were rescued and brought safely to shore. The boat itself, sadly, burned to the waterline and sank.

The second occurred at night just a few days later, as a frontal passage brought near gale-force winds. We were sleeping as well as could be expecting with the wind screaming in the rigging when the VHF came to life and we heard a request for help -- a boat at anchor lost its hold and began dragging, and was being pushed onto the rocks. The occupants reported that they themselves were not in danger; another vessel nearby was heard saying it was too rough for them even to try to launch their dinghy to try and assist. The storm continued to grind the boat against the rocks; we saw the boat being towed back to the US (over 200 miles) the following week.

The third was a young family on a new-to-them boat, headed for a new life in the islands. First they lost their engine, then they tried to sail, but the sail tore. Now they were significantly delayed, it was getting dark, and the wind was rising. They were just outside the marina entrance, but how to get safely through the narrow rocky opening to shelter? Several folks inside the marina volunteered to take their larger dinghies and tenders and try to tow the hapless boat in to safety. Some turned back as soon as they left the shelter of the breakwater; with five-foot waves breaking over their little rubber boats. A few of the larger tenders reached the boat, but even they had no success setting up a tow; the winds and currents were too strong. The best they could do was bring the children to shore where they would spend the night on a friend’s boat; the parents elected to spend an uncomfortable night aboard in the rough seas just outside the marina entrance, keeping the boat off the rocks. A cookout had been planned for the evening, although it seemed terribly callous to continue to party when these folks were so near, yet so far, and we could all just watch helplessly as they were rocked wildly by the gathering storm. In the morning, when conditions were calmer, several boats again went out to help. This time they were successful in jury-rigging the engine and getting inside to comfort and safety. Wonderfully, the attitudes of this family were still upbeat and in a few days they were able to continue their journey.

After all three of these nautical dramas, as you can imagine, the talk in the café was of nothing else. Beyond simple gossip, I believe there is a legitimate value in analyzing the accidents for lessons learned so as not to repeat the mistakes, although the tone of the comments was often less than charitable. “Of course their engine overheated! They were storing *what* in the engine room!” or “That’s a tough place to anchor in the current. How much scope did they have out? What kind of anchor? No wonder they dragged into the rocks in the storm!” No lives were lost in any of these events, just a few bruises and loss of sleep, and that may have contributed to the tone. I hope to think my fellow boaters would be more generous if the consequences had been more serious. Still, they were bad enough. But the analysis (fueled perhaps by too many rum drinks) had more than a hint of blame-the-victim. Sometimes it was just bad luck, sometimes it can be a chain of events, each of which is seemingly minor, but which cascade to create a major problem (a sailboat can navigate with loss of engine OR loss of sails OR be towed, but when conditions preclude all three? Then what?) But I think there was something else at work. The sea can be big and scary and unforgiving, and sometimes you just have bad luck. That’s why sailors as a whole can be a superstitious lot. But if we can find - deservedly or not - something that someone did wrong to *cause* their problem, then we can believe that we’re smarter, and bad things will never happen to us.

Maybe this is Culture Shock?

Posted: February 27, 8:18 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

Maybe this is culture shock, but I’ve certainly gone through some kind of cycle of adaptation to island life and cruising life. I don’t think I’ve been car-less this long since I was an undergrad; I’ve gotten used to either seeking public transportation when its available, or exploring those things within walking distance of our marina or anchorage. I’ve gotten used to slow, limited internet and aging, limited fresh vegetables at the grocery store, when either of those two “necessities” of my former life are available at all.

The first few weeks, everything was new and wondrous and felt like we were on vacation, just taking a break from our real lives. Then it started sinking it that this was it, this was real life. In the next phase of my adaptation, I was irritable and frustrated at all the things I didn’t have, benefits of the first-world society I was used to. To be honest, there were times I just wanted to go home – not because anything profound or scary was happening, or because I missed family and friends, but just because the accumulation of these little annoyances and deprivations was wearing on me. Finally came a resetting of expectations, comfort, and the kind of simplicity that many people have sought either through economic necessity or after some kind of metaphysical soul-searching values quest.

…and ironically, I’ve finally gotten comfortable, just in time to begin thinking about heading north and home again! It took us almost exactly two months to get to the Bahamas and we hope to be back to Annapolis by May, and have time to explore some of the places we missed on the way down. So, doing the math says its time to start looking for wind from the south or east to ride back to the U.S. on.

Baubles and Bangles and Beads

Posted: February 25, 7:57 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

Yesterday, we were both wearing our wetsuits with snorkels and fins in hand, readying the dinghy to go exploring, when a couple that was staying at one of the villas at the resort stopped to chat. People are so often curious about how we live this life afloat, and we never mind answering their questions. He had dreams of doing what we’re doing at some nebulous future post-retirement time, and we assured him that it was every bit as glorious as he’d imagined.

She asked me what I did about jewelry. Eh? Her question took me aback, in all the conversations I’ve had with people about living aboard, no one’s ever asked me that before. I took her question at face value first: I wiggled my fingers (empty except for a plain silver wedding band) and explained the practical reasons to do without jewelry: that sharks are drawn to the flash and sparkle and we were on our way to go snorkeling. And even if sharks weren’t a concern, things on fingers and ears were all too likely to slip off while swimming and get lost. I told the story of a divemaster we’d met in Aruba who claimed he never “shopped” for jewelry, he just dove looking for it.

It struck me that jewelry was an odd thing to worry about first, when contemplating moving aboard. Often other women ask me about how I deal with giving up my house and possessions. Answer: grandma’s quilt and my parent’s wedding album and our diplomas and other sentimental stuff is stored with some very special friends in Pennsylvania; the rest was sold at a garage sale because after all, a sofa is just a sofa, and I can always find another. This question always saddens me. There are many reasons people have to delay or deny their dream, finances or health or family obligations, but possessions? Truly, then, your possessions possess you, rather than the other way around. The other question I get a lot is whether I miss my family and friends. Answer: we have no aging parents or dependent children, and for everyone else there’s email.

I wondered what the context for asking about jewelry was. It couldn’t really be size and storage, could it? Jewelry is small and easy to store – compared to, say, spare engine parts or an extra anchor. I keep mine in a plastic box with compartments originally designed for fishing lures. My friend and fellow liveaboard Brenda even makes jewelry in a workshop in the aft cabin of their boat. Maybe she was thinking about theft and pirates? The answer for that is insurance, but of course if you don’t have it aboard it can’t be stolen. I forget that people don’t understand how simple this life afloat can be if you choose, how many status symbols and society things you can do without. Most of the time I live in t-shirts and shorts or chinos, and most of my “jewelry” is silly fun stuff made of seashells or resin beach glass so I can flaunt my retired/cruising/unconventional status. I don’t need to get dressed up very often. I do have one serious dress-up outfit and a couple of nicer shirts/blouses, (and even a bit of nice jewelry to match) but only one. Probably the next time I need to get dressed up, I’ll be on a different island with different people and they won’t know I’ve worn my one outfit before *wink*.

Moving On?

Posted: February 22, 6:16 pm | (permalink) | (0 comments)

It’s been drizzling all day; that wasn’t predicted, though our weather forecasts have normally been pretty accurate. We’re hoping to leave tomorrow, sail back to the Exumas after 2+ weeks here in Eleuthera. So Dan’s been out readying the boat, stowing the kayak, readjusting the docklines, all while wearing his wetsuit so he can move easily in the rain. I’m setting up the navigation and checking the weather. One forecast calls for 15 knots of wind from the east, 72 degrees and clear, which would make for a perfectly lovely sail. But the other forecast says 10 knots from the west. Huh? Check yet a third forecast model … that one calls for no wind at all! Gee, guys, could you reach consensus please? It makes a difference to me. Okay, um, maybe we’re leaving tomorrow.

Car Story

Posted: February 21, 11:37 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

We managed four months of sailing, over 1500 miles, without injuries. Within the first HOUR that we had the rental car, we broke that streak. Just as Dan was getting into the car at our very first stop, the wind took the door, and he got an ugly gash on his forehead from the corner of the door. Fortunately, the bad start was not an omen, and we really put the miles on the car touring (and getting lost in) every bit of the island we could get to.

I guess I should explain about rental cars here – we’re not talking shiny new vehicles as would be the case with Hertz or Avis. The rental car, a slightly creaky Ford Explorer with over 100,000 miles, seemed more like someone’s personal vehicle being loaned for an opportunity for some side income…especially since the deal was “cash only, no credit cards” but the engine sounded smooth and it had 4WD and we wanted to explore! At the same time, this meant that casual was the name of the game - there was none of the rituals we were used to when renting a car in the States, no inspections with the rental agent and clipboard circling the car recording scratches and dings that were already there so we wouldn’t get blamed for them when we returned. I love that no one locks their car here, either; people are that nice. But then again, what, exactly, would you do if you did steal a car? You can’t exactly run away with it - you’re on an island.

We got lost more times than we could count, part of the fun of exploring. Some of the roads ran through undeveloped vegetation so dense it felt like driving in a green tunnel. Once I asked directions of a man who was using a machete to clear brush by the side of the road, who explained that we needed to go “dis way, nah dat way, (and here he gestured left and right emphatically with big sweeps of his arms -- including the one holding the machete, yikes!) and de road be rough.” He wasn’t kidding! We stopped several times to walk ahead and make sure the “road” was going to be passable at all. But after 2 miles of rugged travel in the direction he indicated, we came to the end of the road and parked and walked up a moderate hill for about 5 minutes. Spread before us was what I think was the most beautiful beach I’ve ever seen. MILES of fluffy white sand, and almost no people. Tropical island fantasy come true.

(I'm internet-bandwidth-limited here, so more pix will have to wait)

A Bit of Eco-Tourism

Posted: February 20, 5:16 pm | (permalink) | (0 comments)

Adjacent to the Cape Eleuthera marina where we’re staying is the Cape Eleuthera Institute, a research facility promoting conservation, sustainability, and resource management, and the Island School, an affiliated semester abroad program for high school students. I care about those issues just as much now as when I was employed reviewing environmental impact statements , so a tour of their facility seemed like a great way to spend the day.

Living on a sailboat has meant making energy to run our refrigerator and lights from solar power, and traveling by wind power. This made us hyper-conscious of the environmental impact of lifestyle choices, so we really appreciated seeing the entire campus at CEI has one of the smallest eco-footprints we’ve ever imagined. They are primarily powered by wind and solar power, the Bahamas seems to have an ample supply of both. The gutters on the roofs collect rainwater, they are grow all their own food on site and process their own waste, and buildings are made of local materials. One of my favorite examples of this closed cycle was the tanks in which they’re growing tilapia for consumption. The nutrient-rich water that the fish live in is cycled to the hydroponic gardens, where the plants take up the nutrients to help them grow and simultaneously clean the water.

the hydroponic tanks, lettuce for tonight's dinner salad

While waiting for our tour to start I got into a conversation with Danielle (sp?), one of the staff at the Institute. We talked about how science is incorporated in public policy in her country and mine – my friends and colleagues know that this is one of my favorite soapboxes. I’m still mulling one of the stories she told me. Populations of favorite species here, such as conch and Nassau grouper, have been stressed by overfishing. But the lionfish, a distinctive-looking invasive species, has no natural predator in this part of the world and is becoming common. The fish has the reputation of being poisonous and there has been an awareness campaign warning people not to touch, as in this educational fact sheet from NOAA. In fact, only the spines have the toxin and the fish itself, properly handled and cleaned, is quite tasty. CEI has an approach that seems to me a elegant way to turn a weakness into a strength, and the mirror image of the endangered species awareness that was so closely linked to my professional life. Instead of teaching people not to hunt or disturb the animals as would be the case for an endangered species, there’s an education initiative afoot here - lionfish tournaments, lionfish cookouts, teaching people how to catch, handle, and clean the fish – with the hope that the fish will become popular eating and hence overfished until they become very scarce. I wonder if there are insights here that could be applied to help the Chesapeake Bay … but don’t know of any good recipes for serving sea nettles for dinner.

lionfish

Valentine’s Day

Posted: February 18, 11:24 am | (permalink) | (1 comments)

photo by Magda Galambos; used with permission

I’m not a fan of red roses or chocolate. My idea of romance was a walk along the beach looking for driftwood and seashells, holding hands. Directly off our bow was Sunset Beach; the name alone made it the perfect place for our walk. There had been a big wind yesterday so we were anxious to walk along the high tide line and see what had been cast up.

The beach was almost empty, except for a local man sitting on a rock looking out to sea, and a woman exercising a joyous wet ball of orange dog-energy that made me miss our dog Mandy. We walked along the sand until it turned to rock and scrabbled along that a bit too until it got so rough we had to turn back, pockets bulging with our finds of shells and some pale green beach glass. We set the shells to soak in a bucket of water to loosen the dirt and, in lieu of the traditional elegant dinner, went out for pizza. (They make a mean pizza here at the resort!)

Imagine our surprise next morning when we started on the shells with a brush. Dan picked up one of the prettiest shells, a small, perfect conch, and found a snail-like face looking back at him! The little guy must have retreated deep into his shell during the harsh environment of the storm and being cast up on shore, but felt safe enough in our bucket to come back out and peek around. We headed back to the beach and walked up toward the sea grass beds near the point, and wished the baby conch well, and hurled him out to safety as far as Dan could throw.

Bucket of pretty shells

Hey, someone's in here!

The aptly-named Sunset Beach, photo by Magda Galambos; used with permission

(About the photos by Magda Galambos – she's the woman with the dog we met earlier. You'll no doubt see more of her work in future blog stories.)

Something Different

Posted: February 16, 6:52 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

We've been staying at this marina at the south end of Eleuthera to shelter from the fronts which are coming through with regularity now. The locals are complaining of the cold and wind - we saw a woman driving one of the ubiquitous golf carts and wearing a parka with a fur-trimmed hood.
We're renting a car to explore the island by land, as they refer to it here, "down north." (Confusing to me, since north is both "up" on the maps, and the hillier part of the island.) This will be the first time I've been behind the wheel since selling my car when we began this voyage in September ... AND ... they drive on the left here. Watch out world! (Pix and stories, I'm sure, when we get back.)

(originally published 16 February 2010)

Wind whistling in the rigging and tree branches lashing wildly in the gale …

Posted: February 11, 8:14 pm | (permalink) | (0 comments)

…and that’s down here! We’re getting the edge of the big storms that dumped so much snow 850 nm due north in Annapolis, and locals are complaining about the wind and cold. But in between the two storms was one perfect calm tranquil day, and we decided it would be an excellent weather window to head for the next island we wanted to visit – Eleuthera. At slack low tide a bit after 8 AM we headed through a narrow opening between two cays and out toward the deep ocean.

This trip would be fundamentally different than the sailing we’d been doing the last 2 months for several reasons, the most important of which was that for a while, we’d be out of sight of land. When we set out, we could not see our destination. We pointed the bow toward empty ocean, to a spot that the GPS assured me would become Eleuthera in about 7 hours if we kept going straight. Okaaay. We watched the land recede behind us until only the highest points were visible, and then they too were gone.

The day was as perfect as it could get for the trip, sunny and mild. Other than a few flying fish, we had the world to ourselves. The ocean here drops abruptly. On the west side of the Exumas where we’d been are shallow banks, almost everywhere less than 20 feet deep and the waters are turquoise and peridot. Here on the Exuma Sound, the ocean is over a mile deep in places and the waters are a deep sapphire. Our boat was in the center of a perfect crystal sphere, the bottom half deepest sapphire blue, the top half pale sky with streaky clouds, and the seam joining the two halves a slightly wavy line horizon in every direction.

Before we could see land, we saw its signs – a few birds flying, and the bottoms of the clouds were faintly tinged with green as they reflected the color of the ground below. A smudge on the horizon could have been the silhouette of a wave. A half hour later, it stayed constant and we could see its color was wrong for a wave, a dark grayish green. A half hour after that, another smudge and another, and then they merged into a continuous line and we could see the tall shapes of palm trees and structures and the ubiquitous cellphone towers and finally the buoys that marked the entry to the marina. We came in and tied up snugly to await Part II of the great blizzards of 2010, then opened a beer and toasted the sunset.

Photo: the empty horizon

(originally published 11 February 2010)

Thinking of Annapolis and the Coming Snow

Posted: February 4, 1:21 pm | (permalink) | (0 comments)

(trying not to gloat, but sending a few sunshiny pictures and hoping you all stay warm this weekend)

The harbor at Black Point is completely untenable in a west wind and since west was in the forecast, we sought shelter back at Staniel Cay. This was the first time in almost 4 months that we’d gone back to a place we’d been before, come into a harbor knowing what to expect. We welcomed that comfortable familiarity of known places. It was kicky to sit in the cockpit and read Martha Wohlford’s humorous novel about drug smugglers operating on a laid back pristine little island “somewhere in the Bahamas” – and to be in the place we were reading about and recognize some of the real places that inspired places in the novel and literally to be able to see the authors quirky turquoise and yellow house from the spot we were sitting and reading. It was pleasant to sit at the by-now-familiar yacht club bar and chat with people who knew us. The other thing that we realized we appreciated (and had missed!) was continuity … until now we’d only had present-tense snapshots of people that we’d come across and would be unlikely to see again. No past, no future. It was nice to reconnect with people and have a sense of time. We reconnected with Jake and Joelle of the dive shop – and learned that they’d already used ¼ of the bottle of hot sauce we’d given them earlier in January– the size that lasts us a YEAR. Okay, that makes us officially wimps about spicy food. We also reconnected with Millie – last time we were here she’d taught us to recognize the leaves that are brewed into “strongback” tea – in Bahamian folk medicine, used for just what the name implies. She asked if it had helped; I don’t know that it will replace the physical therapy exercises I’ve been doing, but it brewed up into a mild, pleasant-tasting amber tea.

After the front passed, we were back to Black Point and the kids. Now, the edges of the storm that is predicted to bring 16-24 inches of snow to Annapolis this weekend will bring strong south and west winds to the Bahamas so Black Point will again become untenable – these islands are low and scrubby and don’t have much to block the wind – so again we’re seeking shelter. This time we’re at Compass Key, a private island a bit north of Staniel and just outside the park. In addition to the hiking trails, one of the attractions they offer is swimming with the sharks (very well-fed nurse sharks, used to humans and not aggressive).

At the helm, near Black Point

Swimming with the sharks

So many hiking trails to choose from!

(originally published 4 February 2010)

Getting to the "Point;" Sticking to the "Point"

Posted: January 28, 10:38 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

“Hair,” whispered one amazed small girl, as she reached a tentative finger to touch mine. I couldn’t blame her – my hair is long, pale, and straight – and couldn’t be more different than the nappy hair of all her classmates and teachers. Dan and I are doing some volunteer work, tutoring students in math at the one-room schoolhouse at Black Point settlement, the next stop on our southbound journey.

How did we get here? Without a fixed address, we don’t have a library card. And a library loan wouldn’t be practical anyway, since we’re often not in one place long enough to finish a book – one of the delights of being on a passage is catching up on our reading. So book exchanges are common in marinas, cafes, and other places that cruisers frequent. We were sitting in the laundromat (or “wash house” as the locals refer to it), and I was perusing their well-stocked book swaps while our clothes and sheets tumbled. Although there were lots of novels to choose from, nothing appealed to me, not One. Single. Thing. If I read one more piece of fiction, my brain was going to atrophy. At the same time, I wasn’t quite up for some of the heavier tomes I’d optimistically brought along: “Water Availability for the Western United States – Key Scientific Challenges” or “A Culture of Improvement – Technology and the Western Millennium.” This was something I hadn’t known about myself and would never have suspected while I was caught up in the workaday world, but I was getting … not bored exactly … but after a while all the pretty palm-lined sandy beaches with turquoise water began to look alike. Browsing the bulletin board, among notices for a gospel concert and rooms for rent and exhorting all to keep Black Point “clean, green, and pristine” was one that caught my eye. It invited boaters to tutor students in reading or math at the All Age School. Now, I thought, there was a place our engineering degrees could help the community. Next thing we knew, we had relocated the wristwatches we had put away when we arrived here in December, and shirts with collars instead of t-shirts and shorts, and were spending weekday mornings at the school.

Black Point is an interesting place. The guidebook describes it as “an excellent example of a real out-island non-touristy settlement.” Just like in the US, the people who work at the fancy resorts can’t afford to live there, and this island is where they come home to, commuting to work daily in small skiffs with fast outboards, or the Island Shuttle. On the walk from the dock to school, we pass local fishermen cleaning their catch and groups of women and a few men sitting together in the shade weaving baskets and tending babies. “It [basket-weaving] relaxin’ to do wit’ your hands, like knitting,” one explained. The school itself serves kids up to grade 8; they go to Nassau for high school. It’s quite formal in the British tradition – the kids wear uniforms and every sentence seems to include a ma’am or sir – but it’s not backward. In fact, these kids are far more comfortable with calculators than they are with pencil and paper, maybe that's the point of our tutoring. In any case, we’re kept quite on our toes, doing everything from algebra to addition. Gonna be here a while, I think – at least until the wind changes.

Flash cards and foam dice help with math lessons

A woman weaves baskets that will be sold to cruise ship tourists in Nassau.  In a sense, this photo is atypical; most times we came by, the shade of this tree was a communal meeting place.  Babies were tended and news was exchanged while folks worked on their crafts.

(originally published 28 January 2010)

Staniel Cay Part 1

Posted: January 12, 9:57 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

After 2 relaxing weeks in the park we were ready for a bit of civilization, so we sailed about 3 hours to Staniel Cay. The guide book advertised several grocery stores, a local art/gift shop, renowned dining at the yacht club, and more. I was ready!

Scale, however, was relative. The island is less than 2 miles long, with a permanent population less than 100. It’s so tiny that there are few cars; people use golf carts to get around. There’s a wonderful cozy charm that the small size allows, and an island casualness. There is no such thing as a commercial district, no neon or plate-glass windows. The “shops” were merely bright-painted cottages; the only way to tell that they weren’t residences was the hand-painted signs in front. Fresh bread was baked daily by “the lady in the bright yellow house.” We found that one while we were walking around exploring town – even if we hadn’t seen the sign, we could have located it by the sounds of laughter and lovely smells drifting through the screen door. The two grocery stores, one pink, one blue, and nearly side-by-side, have quite a variety of products for places about the size of a convenience store in the States. The mail boat comes once a week (weather permitting) with mail and packages and fresh produce to stock the stores, and if you don’t shop that day everything may be gone. Bad weather delayed the mail boat while we were there; the owner of the general store made an announcement on VHF to let everyone know. Buying groceries was definitely an experience! In Annapolis, you decide what you want for dinner, then go to the store with a list. Here, you go to the store and see what’s available, then figure out how to combine it for a meal. At the same time, small and isolated doesn’t mean primitive – we also were able to get a good internet connection and buy a local cellphone.

We anchored near the incredible Thunderball grotto – think the James Bond movie of the same name – this was the place. The snorkeling was fantastic, although we had to hurry to catch slack low tide before the strong current came up. It was too chill to stay in the water long in any case.

The wind was supposed to pick up the next day and we looked forward to hanging out on the boat doing chores and surfing the ‘net. It didn’t exactly work out that way. We had a pretty dramatic night with an unoccupied boat dragging down on us until it T-boned across our bow at 3 AM. Our new Rocna anchor held us both while I hailed on VHF for “any vessel to assist.” Unbelieveably, the other boat was crosswise across our bow, perfectly balanced, held off by the tension on the snubber (rope rather than anchor chain). As a result, no damage to either boat at all; except they lost some bottom paint. Took 2 guys diving, in the dark and howling wind, to get their anchor off our chain and reset. We made some new friends in the process, with the local dive shop and water taxi drivers. A couple of days later everyone involved in the rescue went for a celebration at the yacht club. The yacht club boasted a dining room/bar that could have been the inspiration for a Jimmy Buffett song. The ceiling was hung with burgees, pool table in the corner, and photos of visiting celebrities – in this case, the James Bond crew in the 1960s. Found it amusing that many of the locals, all clad in sweaters and sweatshirts and hats ordered drinks like coffee or hot chocolate (some with a shot) – then we remembered that it is winter here, after all.

PS: The sign in the previous post with “<-this -="-" hat="hat" way="way">” was on a loop road on the south side of Staniel. So in truth, either direction would be okay. Still, it seems to me perhaps a metaphor for life in general.

Celebrating the boat rescue: Gage, Cole, Coral, Jake (Staniel Cay Divers), Joelle (sp?), me, Dan, local author Marty, and Brian (Island Shuttle)

Celebrating the boat rescue: Gage, Cole, Coral, Jake (Staniel Cay Divers), Joelle (sp?), me, Dan, local author Marty, and Brian (Island Shuttle)

Brenda the bread baker

The general store had a dinghy dock, but we had to double check to make sure it really was a store and not a private house

Dan was intrigued by this wall paved with shells

The more typical disposition of conch shells!

Cubicle dwellers take note: a "government office building" on Staniel Cay

(originally published 12 January 2010)

Driving Directions, Bahamas Style

Posted: January 10, 3:29 pm | (permalink) | (0 comments)

I don't have a very good internet connection here so a longer post will have to wait, but just HAD to share these hand painted road signs with you.

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(originally published 10 January 2010)

Two Cays at the Park

Posted: December 29, 12:56 pm | (permalink) | (0 comments)

 I've been utterly captivated by this fishing float at Park headquarters

We motorsailed from Highbourne marina to take a mooring at Shroud Cay in the Exuma Land and Sea Park (their version of a national wildlife refuge) on a cool, gray day with mild winds 15 knots out of the north. We were very pleased with our navigation and ended up picking a mooring that would shelter us well from the strong north and east winds expected the next couple of days. We were looking forward to exploring the low, shrubby, and utterly pristine island.

Unfortunately, there was no exploring to be done as winds increased the next day to 20 knots with near gale-force gusts, a heavy overcast, and rain. We hang out, reading novels and making a big pot of black bean chili. It seems weird to me that these were just the things we’d do at home on a blustery day, then it sinks in: we are at home. When we’re below, it’s almost the same whether we’re in our slip in Annapolis or the marshes of Georgia or a mooring in the Exumas. Well, it is the same, and it isn’t. It is, in that I’m surrounded by my familiar art, cooking pans, and possessions. Living aboard, I get to see the world without leaving the comforts of home. But also, it isn’t the same. The scene for Decmeber on the wall calendar is a photo of snow-covered evergreens along the Blue Ridge Parkway. I stick my head out the companionway hatch and look at turquoise water and thatch palms and mangroves and I’m struck again by the impossible to reconcile: I’m simultaneously at home, and away from home.

We found an inflatable kayak at LL Bean several years ago. It has a clear plastic panel in the bottom – sadly, not much use in the Chesapeake but here the tropical water is so wonderfully transparent and we can sit in the kayak and watch the fish swimming past beneath us. We inflated the kayak and went paddling through the mangroves at the south end of the island that we’ve been gazing at. Mangroves are often described as fish nurseries – baby fish live and grow up among their dense roots, in protected spaces too small for predators to enter.

We wake up around midnight on Xmas Eve and the boat is rocking uncomfortably. The wind has shifted from the northeast around toward the south, where there is just a stretch of ocean for waves to build and no shelter. Ugh! Time to move on. A fifteen-mile sail brought us to the Park headquarters at Warderick Wells Cay. The last hour or so we were sailing at 6 knots, blue water, warm breeze, sunny sky – one of the more unusual Xmas Days I’ve spent. There is so much natural beauty to explore here! On clear days when the sun shines brightly illuminating the coral reefs through the water, we snorkel. On cool, cloudy days, we hike. Here’s one for my friends and former colleagues at US Geological Survey: on several hikes we’ve seen what they refer to here as “musical rocks.” These are limestone from which much of the cementing between the grains has been dissolved away. The remaining grainy rock is very light for its size and rings like a bell when struck with another rock -- or when it wobbles as we walk over it, giving us an unsteady footing, but adding unusual sounds to our hike.

(originally posted 29 December 2009)

Morgan's Bluff to Highbourne Cay, Exumas

osted: December 21, 7:26 am | (permalink) | (0 comments)

We stayed put another day at Morgan’s, waiting out a strong south wind. Went ashore for a beach walk, which turned up some interesting driftwood and seashells, then went back to the bar for a Kalik (local beer). Ellen ordered conch salad, which, as she put it, “included the show” as we watched it being deftly prepared in the back of the fisherman’s boat. He even gave her the shell as a souvenir. We also got to chatting with a local man who turned out to be the supervisor for the shipping company whose barge was being loaded with cartons of grapefruit in the harbor … and ended up with a case (a CASE!) of grapefruit for $10.

The view from our table, waiting for conch salad.  Can you say "fresh"?

Time to move on. We’re only 2 days travel from the Exumas, the central area of the Bahamas and the region we intend to spend the winter in. The only practical harbor for us on this trip, in this wind direction, was somewhat short of halfway, so we motor-sailed, knowing we’d have a longer day the second day. We were the only two boats anchored in a roomy cove. Just after sunset we had a brief heavy rainstorm. It was dark, it was warm, it was private, so we got naked on the foredeck and had a fresh water shower. We’d been warned that fresh water was expensive in the Exumas, as much as 50 cents per gallon, but I wonder if we’d been taking the water conservation thing a bit far? It was fun, though.

Much of the trip next day was over impossibly clear bottle-green water with hints of gold – another color I have no name for. We arrived at Allen’s Cay and set the hook at about 4 PM and I immediately changed into a swimsuit and jumped in. We’d arrived! And the water was perfect – clear, turquoise, and a delightful refreshing temperature after a long day. But oh! BIG surprise when Dan decided to go for a swim about an hour later – so much current picked up that he didn’t feel safe going more than a boat length. By sheer luck we’d arrived at slack water (the time when the tide reverses and the current is still). This could have been a problem if I’d jumped, unknowing, at maximum ebb or flood tide – the current probably wouldn’t have swept me away but it could have been quite a challenge. Note to self: Wonder if this is where the cliché “Look before you leap” came from?

There’s a cynical saying that cruising is just doing boat maintenance in exotic ports. The next day that was at least partly true as Dan swam around the boat cleaning algae from the water line while I opened every hatch and sprayed mold killer on the overhead in the main cabin and V-berth. The next few days were better, though, as we got in some snorkeling and a dinghy trip to a nearby beach inhabited by iguanas the size of a cat. I made tuna steaks for dinner covered with a salsa from one of the fresh grapefruit we’d gotten on Andros. There were a few more days filled with snorkeling, including one spot where Dan jumped in an saw two gray shapes glide quickly away. Remorae (“sharksuckers”) were grazing on our hull – does this mean our boat looks like a shark from below? We moved to a lovely, very protected marina on nearby Highbourne Cay to wait out big winds from the edge of the same storm that dumped almost 2 feet of snow on our friends back in Annapolis. But now the weather has calmed and we’re ready to move on; probably out of internet range for a week or two. Happy holidays, all!

Shades of blue water on the east side of Highbourne Cay

Photographing the iguanas at Allen's Cay (photo by James Forsyth)

-Jaye Lunsford

(slightly modified from a blog post in the Annapolis Capital; originally posted 21 December 2009)

Sapphire, cerulean, azure, cobalt, indigo ...

I ran out of names for all the different shades of blue we saw crossing the Gulf Stream. We left Florida at dawn and when we were just 5 miles out, quite abruptly the depth dropped from tens of feet to hundreds and the water temperature jumped, and we were in the Stream. At the start it was quite rough, but after about 2 or 3 hours of really bad rolling, things mellowed to just a pleasant motor-sail across incredible liquid blue. By late afternoon the island of Bimini was in sight, but we continued onto the Bahamas banks (fifteen feet deep, clean sand, and now, calm and flat). I added names to my catalog of blues - ink, midnight, navy. Stars so dense I could barely find familiar constellations against the crowded background. Navigating by both GPS and paper charts across the emptiness. We saw the lights of a few fishing boats, one other cruiser, and one large cargo ship going our way. The moon came up about midnight and dimmed the stars; we took turns cat-napping in the cockpit while the other stood watch (with our faithful autopilot, nicknamed Baron Otto von Pilott, doing much of the work). By morning we were just a few hours from our destination of Morgan's Bluff, Andros Island, and the seas were kicking up again. We adjusted our course to take the waves at a more comfortable angle even though it would make for a slightly longer trip. Soon we were turning toward the harbor looking in vain for the channel markers shown on the chart as the water abruptly shoaled from hundreds of feet to about 30. Then, as we were getting quite close, we learned that Bahamian channel markers looked more like floating oversize beach balls than the triangles or squares on a stick that we became familiar with on the ICW - and we were in.

We anchored in 10 feet of water so clear we could simply look down and see the bottom, the boat floating above its own shadow. We followed the traditional nautical protocol and hoisted a square yellow flag, the "quarantine" flag. "Town" seemed to consist of just a few concrete buildings, the largest and closest of which was a bar. Dan and James went in to ask where they could find the Customs and Immigration officer, and the bartender handed them a cellphone. The officers (one for Customs and one for Immigration) came to us, and we filled out paperwork sitting at the picnic tables at the bar. Customs officer was a woman whose island accent was so lovely, I could have listened to her read all the fine print on all the forms out loud and not get bored. Heck, I could have listened to her read the phone book! I wonder if I can learn that lilt, while we're here?

The quarantine flag today simply indicates that we haven't cleared in with Customs and Immigration, but the original meaning truly was a quarantine to ensure diseases weren't brought in, and some of the questions on the paperwork harked back to those days: "Did any person aboard die (other than by accident) during the passage from your last port?" was an ominous reminder of how tough life at sea was. There was also a question about the rats on the ship (signs of plague? yikes!) Anyway, when the forms were complete and the passports stamped we returned to the boat and took down the quarantine flag and hoisted a Bahamian courtesy flag. Tempting as it was to explore, most of all after the all-night passage, we needed a nap!

Cinderella at anchor at Morgan's Bluff, Bahamian courtesy flag in the rigging

(originally published 17 December)