Tag Archive | Bahamas cruise

Crossing the Gulf Stream

Mar10

It simply isn’t an adventure worth telling if there aren’t any dragons.

— J. R. R. Tolkien

Sailing South

Clang!

It was only 7:45am on a Friday morning, and the marina was quiet, so our small collision sounded pretty loud. Phil had gotten up early and disconnected the hose and the electrical cables, and because it was so calm, he had released the starboard lines. Our boarding stepladder and dock rug were locked in the Prius, which sat covered up in the parking lot.

I stood at the bow to release the port bow line, ready with a boat pole to fend off our neighbor boats in the narrow channel. The engine purred. But as Phil struggled to get the boat cleanly out of the slip, it veered sideways and clanged the anchor of our friend Les’s boat. “I hope we didn’t wake you,” I wrote to him later, “It was just a little goodbye kiss.”

 Phil said it was his worst undocking ever but it would have been fine if I were quicker to fend off. I had left lines on the deck that tripped me up as I tried to hurry over with the boat pole. Learned a lesson: keep the deck clear of hazards, even when just pulling out of your slip.

Finally on our way!

Defiant against superstition, we were starting our three-month cruise to the Bahamas on a Friday. It was a calm, clear day and we were only going as far as Miami in preparation for crossing the Gulf Stream to Bimini on Saturday. Boats like ours generally depart from a point to the south of their destination to compensate for the northerly push of the mighty Gulf Stream.

Heading out into the Intracoastal Waterway, Phil called the first bridge to request an opening and we easily made the 8 o’clock lift, then raced toward two more bridges and made their 8:15 and 8:30 lifts, with the last bridge-tender holding the bridge open for a full five minutes to let us pass.

As we motored into the turning basin at Port Everglades, I noted our speed at 6.4 knots. Phil said, “This is the calmest I’ve ever seen it out here.” It is usually a washing machine full of small and large power boats kicking up huge wakes, but this was something else.

Phil went forward to attach the lifeline as we left Port Everglades.

There was no wind for sailing so we turned south and started a smooth ride on quiet seas. With current in our favor, we saw 6.9 knots on the speedometer and motored toward our anchorage at No Name Harbor. Our weather router, Chris Parker, had predicted a mild crossing for the following day, so we were planning to be there just one night.

No Name Harbor, marked by 35 on the chart.

As we neared Miami, we saw the color of the ocean change from sapphire to aqua. Bright afternoon sun lit up the Cape Florida Lighthouse on the southeastern tip of Key Biscayne as we rounded the cape. We were in no need of the wind protection of No Name Harbor, so we anchored outside in 14 feet of water. The anchor was down at 2:15pm. We lunched on grapes and pretzels, took a rest, and watched the sun go down. We were on our way.

Phil at anchor just south of No Name Harbor, Key Biscayne.

First sunset from our anchorage south of Key Biscayne.

Sailing East

Phil was up early and out on deck when I joined him at 6:45am. He started the engine and I took the helm as he raised the anchor. Other boats in the anchorage were heading out, too, as this was the best crossing conditions in the next week. The big catamarans headed due east, not the southerly heading we were advised to take.

It was cool and clear, a calm and gorgeous sunny day. With the autopilot engaged, Phil went below to make a pot of coffee. After coffee and breakfast bars, we motored east southeast into the rising sun. I was on dolphin and turtle watch, but didn’t see any. Phil spotted a turtle (“Turtle pop!”), but from experience I knew only the first observer sees the turtle, they pop up and dive so fast.

Kay at the helm as we motor out past Cape Florida.

The cities of Miami and Miami Beach got shorter in our rear view, and we talked about how Columbus and early sea explorers guessed the world was round because they could see the tops of the masts of the boats coming in from the sea before the hulls. I could still see the tops of the Miami Beach skyscrapers as they faded into the distance behind us.

At around 9:30, we felt the offshore breeze strengthening and put out the jib. It flapped around a little at first, but as the wind filled in, the sail ballooned out and quieted. The boost from the sail put our speed back up to 6 kts. Our bearing at 125 degrees (see chart, below) seemed to push us too far south so Phil changed course to 120 degrees and the sail pulled us along, steadying the boat.

From Bahamas Land and Sea, by Addison Chan, showing recommended bearings to offset the Gulf Stream’s northerly flow.

By noon we were out of sight of land, a first for us on this boat. There was nothing but flat, gray ocean in all directions. It was eerily calm with light winds, and if this was the typical crossing, we had nothing to worry about. Our weather routing service called the conditions “mild,” and we concur. We think now it was actually extraordinary.

Here is our route, as shown on NoForeignLand. Click the link to follow our journey.

On our chart plotter, we have an AIS system that broadcasts our position and alerts us of ships in the area. Suddenly, AIS said we were on a collision course with a gigantic ship coming from the north, a monster of 293 meters – nearly 1,000 feet. Being on their right, it was up to us to avert, but they changed course for us. They didn’t have to, but I’m sure these captains can’t rely on pleasure boat captains to know the rules the way we do. They turned slightly to starboard and passed our stern, without contacting us.

Gigantic ship passed us, altering course to avert a collision.

We changed our course bearing from 120 to 108 degrees magnetic by the compass when Phil determined that we were four miles south of the rhumb line, our charted route to the entrance of Bimini Harbor. Our guideline was a little extreme for the force of the Gulf Stream. It did push us north but not by that much. Is the Gulf Stream weakening? Some oceanographers and meteorologists warn of dire consequences if it does.

At 1:40 Phil saw Bimini at a distance of 12 miles. “We are 3/4 of the way,” he said. “I think we are going to make it!”

Approaching Bimini, in clear aqua water.

The water soon turned to a brilliant aqua blue, and even with 50 feet of depth, we could see the bottom. The shore was sandy and full of beach goers, and the entrance was so shallow and close to shore, I thought we would end up on the beach. The sand bar obstructing the passage is well marked on the chart and does have navigation markers. Unfortunately, the channel is also marked as an anchorage, so we had to dodge anchored boats.

Phil, about to raise the yellow quarantine flag for the first time. It was so calm, he is not using the jackline and tether.

Our biggest problem coming in to the marina was communication. We had a reservation at Blue Water Marina but not a slip assignment. The marina did not answer VHF channel 16 or 68. We finally called on the phone, and they said to call on channel 68. We kept trying as Phil navigated very shallow water (7 ½ feet at one point) into the harbor.

Finally we got an answer: Switch to 71. Then we could not understand the Dockmaster at all. We finally arrived at the marina and he yelled, “Wait one minute,” then gestured where to dock. He barked orders at us in a thick Bahamian accent and we did our best to follow his directions for line placement. “Line” sounded like “one.” “Midship” sounded like “Me-shit” and “pull you” sounded like “poo-you.” Phil said it didn’t help that the dockmaster was sadly missing several (many) teeth. But Phil pulled Catmandu into the slip like the pro that he is, and we were tied up by 4 pm.

Catmandu tied up at Blue Water Marina.

No Dragons

The crossing of oceans is beyond our dreams right now, and we have no desire to cruise around the world. Venturing across the passage from Miami to Bimini, navigating the famously volatile Gulf Stream, proved to be an experience of calm waters and gentle breezes, not a wild adventure worthy of bragging rights. There were no rogue waves, no hurricane-force winds, no dragons. Not even one dolphin. But we were proud of ourselves.

“We made it,” I said, as we relaxed in the cockpit for a minute. It was a moment of anticlimax.

“I guess I should go find Customs and Immigration,” said Phil, “And make us legal.”

So off he went on foot into the wild narrow streets of Bimini – passports and documents in hand – to make it all legal.

Ready, Set, . . .

Mar5

 “Preparation, I have often said,
is rightly two-thirds of any venture.”
– Amelia Earhart

“Believe in yourself and all that you are.
Know that there is something inside you that is greater than any obstacle.”
– Christian D. Larson

Last year at this time, we were reeling from the cancer diagnosis that would keep us in South Florida for at least nine months. We gave up on our plan to cruise the Bahamas for the spring season and head north to Annapolis for the summer and fall. But now, with chemo, surgery, and radiation all behind us, we are ready to go. The boat, however, has a few “cancer cells” of its own.

Although it is well-maintained, Catmandu is a 26-year-old sailboat that has been sitting at a dock since last spring. Her bottom is cleaned every month; Capt. Phil starts the engine from time to time; the winches have been dismantled and cleaned; and we have a brand new dodger protecting our companionway. We regularly clean up after the messy birds and polish the stainless fittings. On the surface, we look great. But to go the Bahamas, we need additional insurance and (gasp!) a survey – or two.

Our Punchlist of Known Problems

Flaky Alternator: During our cruise up the coast of the Florida Keys, we had an intermittent problem with our alternator, as in, sometimes it didn’t turn on. Since we rely on this vital engine part to charge our batteries when motoring, this was number one on our fix-it list. Just because it was top of the list doesn’t mean it got fixed first. We decided to replace the unit and the regulator with a new Balmar kit and keep the old parts for spares. After laying out the nearly $900 for parts, Phil attempted to install it himself. He is skilled and knowledgeable, so I had no second thoughts until, well, Phil tells it best:

“I installed and tried to run the engine with the new Balmar alternator and regulator. Ten seconds into the run, the engine compartment filled with smoke and I found that the stator wire had burned through. It turned out to be caused by me plugging one wire into the wrong pin. Thoughts and prayers are welcome.”

Our old, intermittent alternator.

After several attempts at getting the right size belt at Advance Auto, and waiting for a replacement wiring harness for the melted one, Phil got it installed and (with crossed fingers) started the engine. The tachometer sprang to life, the alternator spun, and here’s the look on Phil’s face.

Success!
Alternator, installed, and running without smoking or sparking.

Leaky DOOD: In a previous post, we described the process of finding our “DOOD,” the dinghy of our dreams. Our Highfield hypalon, double-floored inflatable RIB has been great, lived through the Key West mooring field and Boot Key Harbor experiences with no issues. But, it had a very slow leak that required a pump-up about once a week.

We suspected a previously applied patch was the culprit, and after putting the boat upside down on the deck – with the help of the spinnaker halyard and a winch – Phil found the tiny leak spitting bubbles into the film of soap applied to the patch. He fixed that, too, and stowed the repaired DOOD on its dinghy davits, freshened with new pulley lines. We were making progress!

Touchy Toilet: One thing you don’t want to repair in exotic ports is the marine toilet. Ours had a clog that sometimes completely stopped up the works, and at other times let our “dark matter” through. After the last clog (which sends us all the way to the office whenever nature calls), Phil had had enough. He has a boroscope, and peeked into the tube to find not only a large bolt that had fallen in, but also a hard brown mass of crusty minerals and who knows what else. (You know what else.) “I’m just going to replace the whole hose,” he announced.

After checking in with WestMarine and being told the hose was $50 a foot, we laughed a little and headed to Boat Owners Warehouse, where we secured 15 feet of white sewage hose for $6.99 a foot. We are still not sure what that fancy hose at WestMarine was made of, but it was definitely too good for our sh*t.

Old hose, new hose: The hose passes from the holding tank (new this year) behind the nav station, through a bulkhead and into the head. If this didn’t work, we had to cut holes in walls.

Phil attached the old hose to the new hose, smoothed the connection, and called Hartman Marine plumbers for an extra pair of hands to pull the new hose into place. It worked. The two of them hooked everything up, cleaned up, and we have a smooth working plumbing system. No more panic runs to the office in the middle of the night.

Safety first! Items: A short list of safety items had to be added to our inventory, just in case. We purchased a set of jack lines and tethers, used to strap us to the boat in case we stumble and fall overboard. I don’t really like the idea of dangling from a tether over the lifelines, but it’s better than swimming with the sharks. We also got a completely new first aid kit (a gift from Phil’s parents), and a bright new LED anchor light. We were almost ready! Weren’t we?

A gift from Phil’s parents got us a deluxe, offshore first aid kit with bandages, medicines and instructions.

Our New Punchlist of Unknown Problems

Phil is fond of saying that “problems” are really “opportunities,” with tongue in cheek. Our surveyors uncovered a couple of opportunities to drain our cash. (Our trusty Prius presented another one.)

Survey Says: We were required by insurance to have the boat surveyed. We actually needed two surveys, one for the boat itself and all its safety gear, and one for the rigging: the mast, shrouds, chain plates and all that hold the mast upright.

For the boat, we contacted the preferred provider recommended by Playboy Marine, a nearby boat yard where we could haul the boat out of the water if needed. Ian Morris came onboard with his rubber mallet, beat on the deck (looking for mushy spots), and inventoried our safety equipment: yes, we have an electronic flare, an EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon) that located us in case of emergency, and fire extinguishers. He suggested personal EPIRBS and a fire-fighting hole in the stairway for engine fires, but no haul out! Hooray!

Riggers climbed the mast to make repairs.

Phil called a rigger who had worked on our previous boat, and Jonathan, of JC Marine, came to check the upper reaches of the boat. His crew climbed the mast, replaced the anchor light, and delivered some bad news. The cost of the survey was only $385, but the repairs were close to $3,000. We needed one chain plate rebedded, new spreader boots, and a new sail track. This last item was expensive, took two tries to get the size right, and nearly delayed our departure. It is the liner of the slot where the sail attaches to the mast, and it was very crumbly.

Here’s the old anchor light, probably the original 26-year-old light. The new one is LED and much brighter.

Now, the boat was ready. But were we?

Our Wishlist of Enhancements

In one word, we needed better “communications” to keep us safe, in touch, and wise to the weather. We would not always be within reach of a cell tower, or have access to the internet. These factors – in my mind – were not problems, but opportunities. We would be away from civilization, in the wild, exploring deserted beaches and snorkeling in private coves. Heaven!

But, for safety and peace of mind for our families and friends, we did need to be “reachable” in some way. We also needed expert weather routing so we could avoid dangerous squalls and fronts. We don’t really like turbulent winds or high seas. So we signed up for Chris Parker‘s weather routing service ($450 for a year), and bought a new chart update for the chart plotter. We had to get 2024 charts, as the 2025 version is not available yet. We also have new paper charts (for backup and reference) for all of the Bahamas.

Finally, as a backup to our phone service, we activated an Iridium Go device Phil had purchased last year, giving us satellite service for texts, emails, and weather updates when we were far from a cell tower or any form of internet. We gave instructions and numbers to our emergency contacts. Now, we were ready to go, weren’t we?

Iridium Go, for satellite communications.

I can’t go through all of the preparations we made for our trip. It would be too long and too boring. We serviced the water maker, changed oil and filters on the Westerbeke, filled the jerry cans with diesel and gas, and visited four different vendors to find one that could fill our propane tanks. We ordered $300 worth of meat substitutes for the freezer, in case the Bahamas didn’t cater to vegetarians. We bought another $400 worth of food stores – including treats. We notified the marina of our departure date, and they very kindly allowed us to leave our car.

There was only one thing left to do…

GO!