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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!”

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.

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.

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.