Tag Archive | Sailing couple

Four Weeks in Spanish Wells

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things
that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.
So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor.
Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
— Mark Twain

We pulled up the anchor in Royal Island Harbour and motored the last five miles east to Russell Island, which is considered to be a part of the Settlement of Spanish Wells. Of the three Explorer Chartbooks that cover the 700 islands of the Bahamas, Spanish Wells is covered by the “Far Bahamas” chartbook. We were now in the “Far Bahamas.”

The anchorage near the inlet to Spanish Wells was a little crowded, so we dropped the hook behind the other anchored boats about a quarter mile from shore, maybe a mile from the town.

*Here we are, anchored a little distance from shore and far from other boats. The island in the background is Meeks Patch.*

After a few hours of rest, we lowered the dinghy and took ourselves to a beachside cafe called the Sandbar. We pulled the dinghy onto the beach and anchored it in case of a rising tide. Then we climbed up to the restaurant and took a seat at the bar where we could watch the dinghy being pushed around by the surf.

*We have a little anchor we can use to keep Catnip from floating away while we enjoy sundowners at The Sandbar.*

*Our very first afternoon in Spanish Wells: a celebration of arrival at The Sandbar.*

For the next few weeks, we made our own water, gathered electric power from the sun and listened to the quiet hum of the power station near our anchorage. We did our laundry by hand, ran the generator on cloudy days and explored the quaint town of Spanish Wells. It was the destination we had dreamed of, and we had made it.

*We were anchored where you see “Mama’s Kate NU 2 U*,” *near the power plant in the upper left of this cartoon map.*

Seven Things We Did in Spanish Wells

1. Move to an uninhabited island to hide from wild winds

Two days later, we were looking at wind predictions on Predict Wind and questioning our position. The prevailing wind direction is easterly, and we were nearly unprotected from that direction. The high winds were expected to last for four days, with the worst coming on Saturday. It was the Thursday before Easter; time to move, already.

*To get better shelter from high winds, we moved to Meeks Patch from the Russell Island anchorage.* *On the left is Royal Island, where we anchored prior to our arrival in Spanish Wells.*

Phil studied the charts and found a good anchorage with eastern protection just two miles away. The island was called Meeks Patch, and we could see from the cockpit that other ships were headed in that direction. It’s a deserted island except for a colony of pigs and a lone entrepreneur who charges visitors $10 to meet them. He didn’t live there; just brought tourists.

*Approaching the pig colony on Meeks Patch. The little hut is the only building on the island.*

We pulled up the anchor around noon and dropped it next to the deserted island at 1:15. There were a dozen boats here, hiding from the wind, but there was plenty of room. We had a sheltered spot as the winds started to swell and roar through the next few days. We held tight to our Delta anchor and did not drag an inch. During the lulls, we got in the dinghy and explored. We didn’t get back to Spanish Wells until after Easter. Everything was closed on Good Friday, Sunday and Monday. (Easter Monday? Who knew!)

2. Visit the swimming pigs

As the winds subsided, we dinghied to shore after hours when no humans were there to take our money. We saw six or seven large sleepy pigs lying around in the sand, and lots of cute little piglets.

*We counted 24 little piglets, all very sleepy and none of them were swimming. There were ducks and chickens there, too.*

“Look,” Phil said. “It’s an actual pig pile!” Little ones were sleeping all over each other, like puppies. We also saw ducks and chickens.

“There’s a whole barbecue here for meat lovers,” I joked. We are vegetarians, so no temptation for us.

3. Walk on a deserted beach

*The wild side of Meeks Patch, where we walked on deserted beaches.*

We explored Meeks Patch on Easter Sunday, taking the dinghy to several beaches where we were utterly alone. The water was shallow and clear, and very warm. We dragged the dinghy onto sand with not a single footprint and felt like explorers. It’s not that unusual to find deserted beaches here, and we enjoyed leaving a trail of prints in virgin sand.

*Deserted beaches are the norm in the islands around Spanish Wells*. *You can see our dinghy on the top right, and our footprints in the foreground.*

4. Ride the tide into a perfect beach

After the winds calmed down, we headed back to our Russell Island anchorage, picking the same spot we had left just four days earlier. It was about a mile to the main channel into town, and a mile to the Sandbar, where we often went for happy hour. It was time to explore Spanish Wells, just a short dinghy ride to the east.

One of our first discoveries was an incredibly beautiful beach where the tide changes rushed in and out, turning dry sand into shallow pools of clear water. The incoming tide is so strong, people make human rafts and lift their feet up, letting the current wash them into the channel.

Taking advice from Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, we let the water come and carry us away.

We visited this beach twice, and Phil snorkeled through the incoming tidal current. I packed a picnic and we made a day of it. This beach is adjacent to a park and features a beach swing, which is pretty hard to get into at low tide. I tried.

5. Visit every single restaurant

As far as we could tell, there are just four (or maybe five) restaurants in Spanish Wells, and we hit them all. The fifth is the Eagle’s Landing, which we thought was a private club, so we didn’t try it. We visited the Sandbar by dinghy, Wrecker’s at the Spanish Wells Yacht Haven, the Shipyard at the eastern end of the town, and Budda’s Snack Shack in the middle of the island. Near Budda’s is Papa Scoops, a local ice cream shop serving homemade flavors like Cheesecake and Oreo Cookie, but it’s only open two hours in the evening and only makes two flavors a day.

All of the restaurants are accessible by dinghy, but the Shipyard dock is in very shallow water so we could only get the dinghy in at high tide. The only dolphins we saw in the Bahamas in the three months we were there were in the main harbor on our way to Wrecker’s. They were small and brownish colored and swam right in front of our dinghy.

*Papa’s Scoops serves homemade ice cream in just two daily flavors (changing all the time) and is only open from 7-9 in the evening. It’s a short walk from Budda’s Snack Shack.*

*We were happiest at Wrecker’s, the restaurant at Spanish Wells Yacht Haven. We visited often and even made friends here, a fun couple (Tom and Susan) from Maine.*

*Here is a signpost at the Shipyard, the restaurant on the eastern tip of St. Charles Cay. The outside deck provides a sweeping view of the surrounding beach and harbor.* *The upper deck features live music.*

6. Rent a golf cart and explore

*This is the preferred mode for travel around Spanish Wells. It’s such a small island, there’s no need for a full size car.*

Spanish Wells is walkable if you don’t mind a mile or two. From the harbor, where we entered the town on our dinghy, you can reach a grocery store, snack shop, two marine stores, two restaurants and a liquor store all within a mile. On the other, farther side of the island are the larger grocery store, the post office, gift shops and a hardware store. We wanted to explore the whole place so we rented a golf cart. There are more golf carts in Spanish Wells than cars. Note: they drive on the left, so we had to be very careful, especially when turning right.

*Another incredible beach lies at the northern edge of St. Charles Cay, but parts of the beach are private and hard to access. We found this view at the end of a side street.*

The plan was to drive the full perimeter road and discover what we might have missed in our dinghy runs into town. Along the way, we found a gift shop with picture post cards and sent some to family — once we found the tiny post office. The one large grocery store is a pretty long walk from the dinghy docks, so we visited by golf cart.

We crossed the cute bridge by our favorite beach and discovered another beautiful beach around the corner. We followed some winding roads up into the bluff above our anchorage and took a picture of our boat at anchor (the picture is the first one in this blog, above). There are some incredible homes with amazing ocean views up there on the hillside. After getting a little bit lost, we found our way back to town and stopped for lunch at Budda’s.

There are no big resorts or hotels here, and no cruise ships visit due to surrounding shallow waters. But the neighborhoods are quaint, colorful, and well maintained. On our golf cart excursion, we saw many B&B cottages with flower gardens and welcoming porches. We also saw goats and chickens in some yards.

7. Meet the people

The first people to arrive from Europe were a group of Puritans escaping England to practice their religion freely. After a stop in Bermuda, they sailed on to Eleuthera and wrecked their ship on the Devil’s Backbone, surviving by sheltering in a cave. The year was 1647. The Eleutheran adventurers as they are called, ate fish and found fresh water in the wells dug by Spanish treasure hunters, giving the town its name. The Spaniards had used the island as a last water stop before crossing the Atlantic.

Because it was so remote from other inhabitants of the Bahamas, the people who settled here developed their own native accent, which you can still hear when the locals talk. It’s hard to describe, but it sounds a bit like an Irish lilt. Today, fewer than 2,000 reside here full time, and it is the only majority white district in the Bahamas.

The people here say hello when you pass on the street. The bartenders and servers are friendly and proud of their community. The cashier at Pinder’s Market spoke with the native accent and told us she was born and raised on the island. We recognized the accent in the speech of servers at Budda’s and the bartender at the Shipyard. A stranger on the beach told us about her life on the island, all in the British/Irish lilt of Spanish Wells. It’s a small, close-knit group of families who are proud to belong here.

It’s Time to Go Home

Phil threatens to turn himself in at the Bahamas Immigration office and slap his U.S. passport on the desk, screaming “I defect!”¹ but I’m not sure that’s the way to extend our stay. We had 90 days to be in the Bahamas, and our time is nearly up. Besides the permissions expiring, there is also the problem of getting my medications for Type 1 diabetes and cancer, and a round of medical scans scheduled for the first weeks of June back in Florida. We could have had a one year permit for twice the money, but I would still have to go back for medical reasons.

We are slow cruisers, and maybe we didn’t see every tourist spot in the surrounding islands. But we got to know this place, and its people. We lived off the grid for over a month, relaxing on the boat most afternoons, or riding in for happy hour. It was a month; but we could have stayed longer. Maybe the next time we’re here, Phil really will defect and we’ll settle down in one of those little cottages with the wide open porches. If we ever go missing, look for us here first.

Very arcane reference to Robin Williams in “Moscow on the Hudson.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moscow_on_the_Hudson ↩︎

How Do We ….

May12

I shared this insight with some other boat owners, and they all agreed that,
definitely, putting your boat into the water is asking for trouble.
— Dave Barry

We have been living on Catmandu while anchored in the Bahamas for almost a month now, spending much of our time in Spanish Wells. Life on the anchor is different than life at a slip, i.e. “dock,” at a marina. At a marina slip, we have electricity and water hookups that we can just attach to the back of the boat. Laundromats and grocery stores are a short walk away. On anchor, we have to do a lot of things on our own.

Do Laundry

Did you know that the town of Spanish Wells, Bahamas, has NO laundromats? We knew that before we arrived. Some larger sailboats with more electric capacity have clothes washers built in. Our boat, Catmandu, simply does not have space for it. We could probably run a washer with our Honda 2200 generator, but we choose to do our laundry with arm power. This is our washing machine, a hand-cranked manual device called Wonder Wash. We saw it on one of our favorite Youtube sailing channels. It holds about 6 pounds of laundry, or about half of a normal load. We put in the clothes, four tablespoons of detergent, and 8 quarts of warm or cold water, and start cranking. (As Phil says, “Every day is arm day on a boat.”)

After turning for a few minutes, we rinse, drain, and repeat. Then the wet wash goes on the lifelines and dries in the sun and breeze. We have just enough clothespins to hang one load. For large towels and bedding, we have to find a laundromat on land, and most marinas have coin-operated machines for cruisers. Hard core cruisers would otherwise use a plunger and five-gallon bucket. No thank you!

Make Electricity

We have three ways to generate electricity for living on our boat. Some of the electricity has to be direct current, and some has to be alternating current. For strictly AC current needs like charging our laptop computers or the electric outboard motor batteries, we have a small 200 watt inverter that plugs into the cigarette lighter outlet at the navigation station.

1. Solar Panels

Catmandu has two 200 watt rigid solar panels mounted on the dinghy davits at the back of the boat. The solar panels generate up to 400 watts of DC electricity that is controlled by a multi-stage charge controller and feeds electricity directly into our house battery bank. Our charge controller is Bluetooth enabled so we can monitor the battery state of charge and other statistics using an app on our smartphones. It is very geeky, so Phil likes it a lot. We can angle the panels somewhat to chase the sun, as seen below.

*Solar panels mounted on the back of the boat.*

2. Generator

Our Honda EU 2200i inverter / generator runs on gasoline and produces up to 2200 watts of AC power. We need to use the generator to make fresh water, but we also use it to charge our batteries on cloudy days and charge up our laptop computers. To charge the batteries, we attach a 30 amp shore power cord to the generator and the back of the boat and turn on our built-in battery charger. When used this way, the household AC outlets on the boat are also live and we can plug in other things. The generator can also power our air conditioner when we are at anchor. Our Honda is also Bluetooth enabled and comes with a smart phone app that shows us how much power it is presently generating and alerts us when it is time to perform periodic maintenance. It is oh so geeky.

3. Alternator

This year, we upgraded the alternator attached to our diesel engine to a 100 amp, high-output Balmar alternator with a multi-stage external regulator. Like any alternator, it makes DC electricity and charges the boat’s batteries. Is it also Bluetooth enabled? No! But we could add a $230 electrical monitor to add Bluetooth, and we have not done so. That would be too geeky.

Make Drinking Water

Catmandu’s fresh water tanks hold a total of about 90 gallons, but we can run through that in about four days of regular use when not trying to conserve water. To make drinking water. we run our portable Rainman water maker. The Rainman “desalinator” works off the principle of reverse osmosis (“RO”) to pump seawater through filter cartridges having pores that are so small that salt molecules and contaminants cannot pass through them. A first component has a pre-filter cartridge and a high pressure pump. A second component is in a case that holds two large reverse osmosis filters, a pressure gauge, and a flow gauge. Eight hundred PSI is required to force the seawater through the RO filters. Our model runs off AC power and makes about 40 gallons per hour. When at anchor, we just plug the water maker into our Honda generator and run it twice a week.

Every day is arm day on the boat!
— Phil Decker

Some marinas in the Bahamas charge up to 80 cents per gallon for fresh water! Filling Catmandu’s water tanks would cost $72, and we would have to do that twice per week. Instead, when we are at a slip in one of those marinas, we run the water maker off of shore power instead of the Honda generator. It takes a cup or two of gasoline to run the generator for a couple of hours. When not in use, the water maker components are stored in the aft lockers in the cockpit.

*Pre-filter and high pressure pump unit.*

Make Hot Water

There are two ways we can make hot water for taking showers onboard when at anchor. Usually, we run the Honda generator. We control the electric water heater with a switch on the instrument panel. It takes about a half hour to completely heat our six gallon hot water tank. The second way is to run the diesel engine. The diesel has a clever loop in the cooling circuit that goes under the floor to the hot water tank under the galley sink. There is a heat exchanger inside our water heater tank so the engine coolant does not mix with the fresh water. It is very nice to be able to take a hot shower after a long day of sailing.

Avoid Seasickness

Kay has an issue with motion sickness and gets nauseated and dizzy in rough sea conditions. It runs in the family, and some members of her bio-family have much worse cases. Please do not tell people who suffer from this condition that it is “all in your head,” or “just look at the horizon, it will go away.” It is not psychosomatic and requires treatment if one wants to live on a sailboat.

Kay uses a relief band ($129) for mild sea conditions, and a combination of Dramamine (meclizine) and relief band for more active seas. One valuable tip: Take the Dramamine the night before travel. You’ll sleep well, and the medicine is effective for 24 hours. Otherwise, the medicine will force a nap within 3 hours or so (even the non-drowsy formula).

The relief band is an electronic device worn on the wrist that provides an electronic pulse. Or, as the website explains: “Relief Band utilizes the principles of neuromodulation to relieve nausea. The device emits gentle electrical pulses that stimulate the median nerve, which in turn sends signals to the brain. These signals help to restore normal gastric rhythm and reduce the sensation of nausea.”

The website indicates that it has an 85% success rate, so it doesn’t work for everyone. To Kay, it is a lifesaver.

Bake Bread and Pizza

Phil got the knack for making bread from working at a pizza joint in college. Now he makes French bread and pizza crust from scratch, and bakes them in our propane oven onboard.

*Phil with a loaf of French bread. I wish I could send out a whiff of what this smells like.*

Get on the Internet

There are two internet / telephone providers in the Bahamas: BTC and Aliv. We tried both, and Aliv is much better. We bought a block of 125 GB of data only, and Aliv provided a new mobile hotspot for only $9 more. The Verizon mobile hotspot we use in the US cost over $200, so the Aliv deal was great. We make phone calls, send and receive e-mail, browse the internet, and participate in Zoom calls easily when we are in cell tower range of any Bahamas island. The mobile hotspot works off a USB cable and uses very little electricity. We keep it on 24/7.

When offshore, we have the Iridium Go! satellite communication system that we can use for e-mail, text messages, receiving weather data, and voice calls. It is battery operated and charges with a USB cable. It uses very little electricity. However, Iridium Go! is very slow and cannot be used to browse the internet. It is primarily for offshore and emergency use.

Q: Why not just use Starlink? It is very fast and has high bandwidth even when offshore. A: It is more expensive, and uses a great deal more power. For example, the Starlink Mini uses 25 – 40 watts of AC power continuously. More popular Starlink units run at 100 watts. That is simply too much power to keep the unit on all the time, and we have no need to be able to stream Netflix from the middle of the ocean.

What will we do when we are too old for all this?

Phil has a dream. What aging sailors need is a place to live out their lives on their sailboats, motor yachts or trawlers. His dream is to develop an assisted living marina.

Presenting The Grandma Yacht Club

The dock pedestals will have pull cords, in case you’ve fallen and can’t get up.

The slips will have chair assists to get you on or off your boat, like you would see at a public swimming pool.

The docks will have edges to keep the wheelchairs from going into the water.

There will be a tiki bar for happy hour, and of course, weekly Bingo.

The Sailboat that Couldn’t Sail

May1

Dreaming is happiness. Waiting is life.
— Victor Hugo

If we learn to enjoy waiting, we don’t have to wait to enjoy.
— Kazuaki Tanahashi

Our easterly route from Ginn Sur Mer followed the southern coast of Grand Bahama Island, which looked nearly deserted until we got closer to Freeport. The marine traffic picked up as we neared the harbor entrance, with a few huge cargo ships and tankers. Something was burning in Freeport, sending up clouds of heavy smoke. There were terminals out in the water for the tankers to offload oil and gas. It all seemed ugly and industrial to me after the deserted natural beauty of Ginn Sur Mer.

*Kay at the front gate of the Grandma Yacht Club.*

*We entered Bell Channel, shown on the right, and took a slip at Grand Bahama Yacht Club.* *The Lucaya Marketplace is to the left of the yacht club, and some of the canals we explored are to the right.*

After hearing other boaters calling for the “Grandma Mama Yacht Club,” we finally got our slip assignment and pulled easily into the C dock at Grand Bahama Yacht Club. This would end up being our favorite marina on this trip, even though we were stuck here waiting for boat parts (we still could not raise our mainsail) and a weather window. It’s not bad being stuck close to town with a pool, a pool bar and a restaurant, in a slip near the bathrooms and laundry.

*The marina buildings were well maintained and featured the architectural style seen here, with open verandas, arched entryways, and white picket fences. Phil is sitting on the steps.*

We were docked next to a large catamaran called Isle of Misfits, with artwork depicting the Misfit Toys from the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer cartoon-movie. After tidying the lines and fenders, we headed to the pool bar for a celebratory beer, unaware that it didn’t open until 4. As we sat waiting for a bartender to arrive, two men sat down next to us at the bar.

*Our neighbors’ boat was decorated with characters from the Isle of Misfit Toys.* (Photo courtesy of their Facebook group.)

“Are you our new neighbors?” one asked. “We are the Misfits.” We introduced ourselves and gave them a boat card. We chatted about our boat names, mentioning that we were waiting for sail parts that might arrive in Freeport any day now. Just before they left, one said to me, “I just realized that you are misfits, too. Remember the boat that couldn’t float? You are the sailboat that couldn’t sail.”

(For a great laugh when you need one, please read Ben Bowman’s ranking of the Misfit Toys.)

*Phil befriended a blue-eyed stranger at the pool bar. She is the figurehead at the bow of the boat-shaped bar at Pisces Restaurant.*

Life at Grandma Yacht Club

We settled into marina life, filling our days with cleaning chores, laundry, and a couple of trips to the large grocery store (Solomons) in a courtesy van. The marina offers rides every weekday at noon. I also had to have blood drawn for my oncologist in Fort Lauderdale, and Phil found an in-network lab we could walk to. (To be honest, I really couldn’t. I was out of breath and in pain by the time we finished the mile and a half in the hot sun. We took a taxi back.) Meanwhile, we waited for our package. Phil called, emailed, and visited FedEx and Customs. The first visit to the FedEx office cost $80 for the taxi. He found the city bus after that ($1.50).

On laundry day, we went to the office for quarters, and Phil wanted to take a picture of the marina sign. He brought along a burgee (flag) he’d saved from his first visit here on his neighbor’s sailboat 19 years ago. As we were posing, we asked a dock hand to take our picture – and he stared hard at the flag we were holding.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

“Right here, 19 years ago,” said Phil.

“I think I gave that to you,” he said with a grin. “I’m Fabian. I’ve been here 23 years. I recognize that old flag.”

*Fabian took this picture of us with our “VIP” burgee. Phil had gotten it the first time he docked here, 19 years ago on a friend’s boat.*

We were VIPs after that, and people at the pool told us they heard the story from Fabian. We flew that flag, our VIP flag, for the rest of our visit.

*The pool was amazingly clean and pretty cold. We spent a few afternoons here.*

We loved the swimming pool and visited often. It was cold, but clean with a waterfall and bridge at one end and lanes for laps. We struck up conversations with other boaters there, and learned a little about Port Lucaya, the ferry service, and a place to dock the dinghy near the bars and restaurants at the market square. We also encountered a woman walking a large black pig like a dog. “Oh, that’s Chris,” Phil was told. “Short for Chris P. Bacon.”

*Meet Chris P. Bacon, a pet pig that roamed the marina.* *He is obviously not one of the pigs who can swim*.

Back in the Dinghy Again

*We explored Port Lucaya and the nearby waterways by dinghy every chance we got.*

Of course, our favorite pastime while we waited for sail parts was dinghy rides. We were advised by various cruising guides not to anchor within sight of the marina. We went into the canals to find alternate anchoring spots, but every one of the possible sites had a no anchoring sign.

*Although there were possible anchorages in the canals, they all had “no anchoring” signs erected by the marina.*

Along the way, we found derelict boats, derelict houses, wrecked docks, and a few construction sites. One large marina adjacent to Port Lucaya Marketplace is completely wrecked, even worse than it was when we visited by land several years ago. No one seems to be interested in repairing it.

*In spite of its perfect location at Port Lucaya Marketplace, this marina has been closed for years.*

On one excursion, we came across this boat, and Phil said, “Now there’s a boat I could afford!”

*Phil nearly adopted this derelict. I warned him not to get too close.*

Phil called it a tramp steamer. For some reason, it reminded me of a scene in a movie that I couldn’t quite remember.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if there were monkeys,” I said.

We both laughed because I realized that must have sounded like a random thought to Phil, not knowing what I was trying to remember: a movie with monkeys taking over a similar boat. (If you know what I was thinking of, please identify the movie in the comments.)

*Phil thought this was a boat he could afford.*

We took the dinghy to the Port Lucaya Marketplace several times, parking it near the ferry landing by Sabor’s Restaurant. We walked around the shops, restaurants and bars, buying very little. At Happy Hour, we sometimes found ourselves at Rum Runner, where the music was loud and often featured American country.

*Kay enjoying an adult beverage at Rum Runners. We were practically regulars.*

We talked with other patrons at the bar: a pair of flight attendants from Texas; a “Conchy Joe” who explained that his nickname was what they called White Bahamians; and other travelers who sipped the tall, icy concoctions made by the busy Bahamian bartenders.

*Phil and I spent a couple of beers at Bones, a neighborhood bar with a dinghy dock.*

*Fair Play was another happy hour spot at the Lucaya Marketplace. This background looks painted, but it is real.*

Three weeks slipped away, and we were still waiting for the sliders that would fix our mainsail. Phil will tell that part of the tale, but as he did everything he could to unite us with our package, we enjoyed the amenities and camaraderie of Grandma Mama Yacht Club. Until the day before we left, Catmandu continued to be the embodiment of a misfit toy: the sailboat that couldn’t sail.

The Lamb and the Lion at Ginn Sur Mer

Apr18

If humans just disappeared from the world, and you could come back to Earth … one year later,
the first thing you’d notice wouldn’t be with your eyes.
It would be with your ears.
The world would be quiet.
—Carlton Basmajian, Ph.D., Iowa State University

The Unrealized Resort

The Ginn Sur Mer development on the southwestern coast of Grand Bahama Island is not a ghost town. Despite its roads, stop signs, electrical lines and dredged waterways, it was never a town at all. No one ever lived here and only one house was ever built. The developers envisioned golf courses, luxury homes, hotels, restaurants and room for mega yachts.

*An aerial view of Ginn Sur Mer from the Waterway Guide®.*

After the Ginn company defaulted on a $650 million loan, Credit-Suisse foreclosed on the property in 2010. Although the government was eager to find new investors, work stopped on the luxury property. The original developers left wide canals with stone sea walls and a 14-foot deep anchorage with room for 9 or 10 boats.

*An ad for Ginn Sur Mer, showing the high hopes of the developers.*

When we arrived there were three other boats in the anchorage but by the time evening came around, there were nine boats in the basin and one catamaran in the canal to the east. A stiff wind was predicted for the following night so anyone in the area looking for a safe refuge didn’t have many choices. It is really the only protected anchorage in this end of Grand Bahama Island, which is a very long island.

We were anxious to explore all the little canals, and after a brief friendly visit from one of our Canadian neighbors, we climbed into our dinghy to take a look around. “Deserted” doesn’t begin to describe the eeriness of this area. The sandy roads have stop signs at intersections, and a completed bridge crosses over the canal. The vegetation consists of low shrubs and trees that crowd in on the few cleared lots.

*Leaving* Catmandu for some dinghy exploration. Looks like the wind has started to blow.

*A bridge over the canal had been completed, and was ready for vehicles.*

We wandered around in the canals using our quiet Electric Paddle® electric motor, coming to a couple of small lakes where the canals ended (see the chart above). Because the waterways are lined with stone seawalls, there was no way to beach the dinghy and explore on land. The wildlife was silent; we didn’t even hear birds singing. We saw one turtle on the way into the basin, but no fish, turtles, dolphins or land animals after that.

*The only completed house sits empty and quiet on the beachfront. Here it is from the canal.*

We wanted to see the one house that was built, and found it on the canal closest to the beach. It stands on the beachfront, about three stories high, with a large garage and a finished roof. It looks ready for occupation, but no one lives there. Of course there are no nearby services except for the few amenities offered by the settlement of West End, four miles away over half-finished roadways. Our Canadian neighbors told us they had entered the house and looked around, but we were not about to trespass, no matter who owns the property.

*Phil, exploring Ginn Sur Mer by dinghy.*

The Big Blow

Phil keeps a close eye on wind predictions, so we knew a big wind was about to blow. The harbor was crowded because of the wind forecast, and the crowded anchorage made high wind much more dangerous. For inexperienced boaters who don’t exactly know how much chain to put out with the anchor, there is a danger of dragging and hitting other boats. But even for seasoned sailors, high winds can dislodge a well-placed anchor, and most cruisers have dragged their anchors at one time or another.

*Phil studying forecasts from Predict Wind™ and other sources, before the winds started howling.*

We were nervous about the 25-knot wind predictions. It doesn’t sound like a lot until it is howling above you and rattling your boat’s rigging. This wind began to whirr at sunset, and by ten o’clock, we were seeing 20-knots on the wind instrument. The wind howled above us. The shallow anchorage was whipped up to a froth and the waves rocked the boat. The sustained winds reached 25 knots with 27-knot gusts.

I tried to sleep, but Phil stayed outside and monitored the anchor watch. It was pitch dark, except for ten anchor lights and the cockpit lights of a few other boats with skippers staying at their helms, also on anchor watch. The concrete seawall on one side and coral ledge on the other side of the narrow channel were invisible except on the chart plotter.

At 11 pm, Phil saw on the chart plotter that our anchor had been briefly dislodged and had dragged about 25 feet before catching again. For the anxiety that caused, he stayed at the helm all night, finally coming to bed at 4:30 am. I offered to finish out the night, but he said the wind would die down soon. It was 7:30 am before we heard the wind settle down, just as the sun rose.

We stayed at Ginn Sur Mer for one more night and on Saturday morning we tried to raise the anchor. Phil pulled up as much chain as he could with the anchor windlass, but it wouldn’t budge from the bottom. He directed me to motor forward slowly, first to the right and then left, as he moved the chain in different directions. The anchor was wedged down tightly, and due to the high winds, it had been pulled with a lot of force, possibly under rocks.

After 20 minutes of maneuvering back and forth, Phil told me to motor forward and finally got the anchor off the bottom. If we hadn’t been able to free it, the alternatives were limited: let the anchor go with 150 feet of attached chain, or dive into murky water to attach another line to help pull it up. Luckily, we didn’t have to make that decision.

*The Ginn Sur Mer anchorage, peaceful at sunset.*

We love the peace of a deserted anchorage, being off the grid with no motors running. It is so often ruined by inconsiderate people in their loud boats and even louder music. And nature itself sometimes gets loud: howling winds, waves crashing, laughing gulls, ospreys, and (sometimes) ocelots. But after the boats leave and the winds die down, there’s just the musical lapping of ripples against the hull. Phil calls it happy boat sounds. My word for it is quiet.

The Kindness of Strangers

Apr9

“Carry out a random act of kindness, with no expectation of reward,
safe in the knowledge that one day someone might do the same for you.”
—Princess Diana

“Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.”
—Maya Angelou

Bimini to Grand Bahama Island

The sun hadn’t quite popped over the horizon when we left Brown’s Marina on March 14, but it was light enough to see. We fought a 2-knot current as we made our way out of the harbor and swung wide to avoid marked sandbars. The sun came up as we turned north and headed straight for the side of a Carnival Cruise ship. It was very slowly backing into position on the Bimini Cruise ship pier, in no hurry to get out of our way.

*The Carnival Paradise was backing into the Bimini Cruise Ship Pier very slowly.*

We passed the Carnival Paradise on her bow and put out the headsail to take advantage of a light SE wind coming across our starboard beam. The sail gave us a little boost and we motored north at 6 to 6.5 knots, rolling rhythmically in a 1- to 2-foot swell. By 10am, we were shedding our sweatshirts as the day warmed up.

Around mid-day, Phil noticed that we were once again out of the sight of land. “Who will see land first?” he asked, but I knew he would. He pointed out a lighthouse to our right that I could barely make out in the hazy distance. “Great Isaac Cay,” he said. “We’re at the same latitude as Fort Lauderdale now.”

We talked about the lack of dolphins (or whales) and the plenitude of flying fish, little silvery missiles that torpedo through the air just above the surface for a few yards before re-entering the water with barely a splash. “Wonder what’s chasing them,” I said.

“Dolphins,” he said.

“And whales?” I tried to imagine giant beasts just below the surface, mouths open to receive a silvery meal.

Land appeared ahead of us and to our right, showing up as a light border on the edge of a darker mass. That was sand; pristine deserted beaches lead into the ocean on every side of Grand Bahama Island except around the industrial city of Freeport.

*We entered the inlet at West End Point and docked in those slips you see to the left of the word “Beach.”*

We headed to West End, the aptly named town on the western point of the island. The marina, Old Bahama Bay, had a narrow winding approach between stone jetties that boats had to enter single file. A greedy catamaran suddenly came up on our right and raced to squeeze in front of us at the entrance. Phil slowed and let them pass while I called them names under my breath. (He’s nicer than I am.)

Old Bahama Bay Marina

As Phil motored into the small harbor, docks appeared on the left with a long fuel dock hugging the jetty along the right side. I readied the bow lines and got a mid-ship line just in case. Phil was forced to make a starboard loop to manage the tight turn into our allotted slip. The slip was the first one on the left, around a narrow dock. He took a right turn to get the boat angled into the parking space, when a sudden gust came at us from the west, pushing the boat into the long empty fuel dock.

*Here is the fuel dock across from the slip we were assigned. Wind pressed us up against this dock as we tried to pull in to our slip. Note that none of the docks have cleats.*

We both rushed to the port side, pushing off the dock as hard as we could, but couldn’t fight the wind. We stayed pinned there while Phil tried to steer the bow off to the right and I pushed the pilings away. I felt panicked; I think Phil did, too. I heard him swear as a gust blew us back to the dock and disconnected one of the bimini supports.

The woman who runs the fuel dock saw our dilemma and ran out to help us. She reached out for the bow pulpit and pushed us off. Then she ran to the middle of the boat and used a leg to push off one of our stanchions. Phil tried backing up with a sharp turn of the wheel and finally got the bow to swerve right. He pushed forward harder and I put my feet off the side of the bow to push off of the dock. We finally eased into the middle of the channel and I yelled a quick thanks to the woman on the dock.

The wind slowed as quickly as it had started, and Phil was able to steer Catmandu into her parking spot. A couple of cruisers from the next slip rushed over to help with the lines. The woman tying our spring line suddenly looked up.

“Is that Phil?” she said. “Oh my gosh.”

“Astrid?” Phil said.

“It’s the former Gulfstream commodores club!” she said. Ross and Astrid had both served as commodores, and so had Phil.

They had just arrived on their sailboat Commotion after a long crossing, and coincidentally (as it so often happens) had docked into the slip next to ours. They helped with lines, chatted with us about the crossing, and suggested what to order at the local restaurant. (Ah, the Grouper Grilled Cheese sandwich – so gooey and delicious with “magic” sauce – I took their advice.)

*Catmandu safely tied up at Old Bahama Bay Marina.*

A local bread woman came by, offering $7 loaves of wheat, cinnamon raisin, coconut, and banana breads. I hesitated while Ross bought a couple of loaves and then she was gone, down the dock pulling her wagon of bread behind her. I regretted not picking up a loaf of raisin bread, and when we saw her later outside the restaurant, she was sold out of all but banana bread.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Phil said, but we didn’t see her again until the night before we left, when she only had $12 white bread, not something we needed. Phil makes delicious French bread from scratch every week. I confess I thought about homemade cinnamon raisin bread for days.

When we brought our coffees into the cockpit early the next morning, Astrid and Ross were gone. Neither of us woke as they backed out of the dock right next to us. The next night, a new catamaran pulled into the slip on the other side of us. They had crossed from West Palm Beach expecting to arrive in daylight. The wind and sea state had slowed them down and they ended up banging into the wind and waves and arriving long after dark. They were from New Hampshire, on their way to a family gathering on Treasure Cay, just stopping long enough to wait for a weather window, do laundry, and recover.

*There is a lovely pool area, open to marina guests, and a pool bar to the right.*

The Old Bahama Bay Marina was practically empty for the few days we were there, with lots of open slips. The marina consists of a fuel dock, a restaurant, a hotel or two, a small store which is only open at the whim of the proprietor, and a drink shack called Banana Hammock. The adjoining resort property has a sandy beach and a lush pool area with a pool bar that serves food. All of the servers there wore shirts with “Dis” before their names: Dis Becky, and Dis Francine as in, This is Becky.

*Here’s our selfie at the pool bar with Dis Becky.*

We have found that stores and restaurants tend to be closed on Sunday, so we were surprised and delighted to find the Banana Hammock open on Sunday afternoon. There were two well-dressed middle aged Bahamian women sitting there (fresh from church, I thought) and the music was pure American country. We sat and drank “Sonds” beers – the local beer is Sands, but natives call it sonds.

*We enjoyed cold beers at Banana Hammock in the company of two Bahamian women dressed for church.*

I listened to the lilting dialect of the women beside me, realizing I didn’t understand every word but loving the sound of it. There was no food there; it’s just a drink shack. Back at the boat, we had gin and tonics in the cockpit and a dinner of veggie brats on the grill.

*Captain’s hour on Catmandu with crackers, cheese, veggies and dip.*

Snorkeling with Rays

We visited the beach the next day with our snorkeling gear and swam above the grassy sand watching little fish dart around beneath us, weaving in and out of the swaying grasses. Phil swam ahead with the Go-Pro into deeper water. Suddenly, a large dark shadow caught my attention down below my feet and my heart sped up. A black, shiny ray about three feet across swam just under my stomach and I felt a moment of panic. I squealed and stood up, watching the tail of the ray move across my path.

“What!” Phil yelled, coming to my side. I laughed because you would have thought I was in mortal danger and it wasn’t even big for a ray. But it was exciting, and I told Phil where it went so he could follow with the Go-Pro. As he left, I stuck my face back in the water and saw a cloud of little 3-inch fish in the hundreds swimming all around me. I can’t identify fish, but these were silvery and fish-shaped with gray stripes (possibly striped seabream?).

The next day, we tried to get a ride to the convenience store in West End. We hoped to hop on the free bicycles, but the seats were all too high for me and despite efforts by two hotel workers, the rusted seats would not budge.

Finally, one of the men offered to take us to the store in his own car. There is one taxi, but he was not answering the call. Phil gave the driver money and we took the short ride along sandy roads, past small houses with broken gates, brief views of the ocean beyond the scrubby bushes, and finally turned into the small lot in front of the Express Food Market. All along the route, the driver honked and waved at every human we passed. “Do you know everyone here?” Phil asked.

“Of course. Lived here my whole life. I went to school with all these guys,” he said. He offered to wait while we shopped. The small store was packed full of merchandise, with a small amount of produce (potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, zucchini), some dairy items but no eggs, and shelves of rice, noodles, pasta, boxed crackers, canned goods and even spices. There were no meat substitutes in the freezer case, but that didn’t surprise us. We spent $28 and got what we needed.

On our last day at the marina, I decided to do laundry in the marina laundromat. Only two out of the eight machines were working and three very cooperative women were juggling loads. I could not believe the kindness and helpfulness of these women. One was a local patron, and one was our dock neighbor. We coordinated our washer loads, rushed the dryers, transferred loads for each other, and chatted outside during wait times. It was the most fun I’ve ever had doing laundry. At the end, Phil hiked over and brought me a cold “sonds” from Banana Hammock. (He also told me what a “banana hammock” is.)

*Old Bahama Bay Resort and Marina is a full service resort, with hotel rooms as well as slips. This is the shared pool, looking north toward the ocean.*

The Old Bahama Bay Marina is a bit expensive. They charge 2.50/ft per night plus .70/ft for electricity and a mandatory $20/day for water. For the sake of our screaming credit cards, we planned to leave this marina as soon as the strong winds subsided. The winds blew over 20 kts. for four days. Finally, after five nights here, we were ready to tuck in to a protected anchorage just four miles away.

I was ready to be alone with Phil at anchor. Marina life is social, with neighbors in close proximity. I like a little respite from the rest of humanity once in a while. But everyone here — at this marina and in the community — was kind, friendly, and helpful. From the woman on the fuel dock to the man who drove us to the food market, to the servers in the pool bar, to the women at the laundry, we were treated to the kindness of strangers. That’s what I will remember about Old Bahama Bay.

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.”

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.

*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!

Ghost Town to Boom Town

Aug11

Leaving the Keys

“Life moves on and so should we.” – Spencer Johnson

Day One: Marathon to Indian Key

After waiting for more than a week for wind and waves to die down in Hawk Channel, we picked a departure day and got ready to leave. We rented a car for a day and drove up to Loggerhead Marina in Hollywood to drop off the Prius – a five-hour round trip. We planned a four-day sail to get to our new home, leaving on Thursday and arriving Sunday afternoon.

When we started up the engine on Thursday morning, there was a problem immediately. The tachometer was reading 0, and the alternator would not go on. Phil checked connections and pulled out his trusty ammeter – which confirmed no output. Phil decided we should go anyway, but as a precaution, he fired up the Honda generator as we left the harbor. The alternator kicked in intermittently after a few miles, and we turned off the generator.

This was a bouncy day with 2- to 4-foot seas and winds from the east at around 15 knots. With the wind on the nose, we couldn’t sail, so we motored, beating into the wind and waves from 9:20am until 5 in the afternoon. Maggie the cat got sick in the salon, poor thing, and lay flat on the salon floor most of the day. We arrived at Indian Key, an historic site we planned to explore, expecting to grab a mooring ball. The only mooring ball in water deep enough for our boat was broken. There was no pennant for us to grab. So, Phil dropped the anchor in 7 feet of water, knowing that it was a little shallow for our 5’8” draft.

“We might sit on the bottom for a while at low tide,” he said.

“When is that?” I asked. He looked it up. In our old boat, “sitting on the bottom” meant leaning over at a precarious angle, waiting for the water to float us upright again.

“About 1am,” he said. “But it’s a sandy bottom and the wing keel will keep us upright.” There was only one other boat in the anchorage overnight, a motor yacht that had snagged the only working mooring ball.

*Indian Key, with its decrepit dock that is no longer safe*.

All day, we had only been able to motor at around 4 knots, so Phil was concerned about the condition of the propeller. He jumped into the water with his snorkeling gear on and checked the anchor, then took a paint scraper to the propellor. It was covered in growth and barnacles, so he worked at it for a while.

When he came out of the water, I told him I could hear bird songs from the island.

“I hear redwing blackbirds and ocelots,” I said.

“Ocelots!” he said and we both cracked up. I sometimes say ocelots when I mean ospreys. Chalk it up to early dementia. We would soon find out there were other improbable sounds coming from this deserted ghost-town key. Probably not ocelots.

*Sunset, looking back toward Lower Matecumbe from our Indian Key anchorage.*

We decided to explore Indian Key in the morning if we were up early enough. The sunset was perfect, and we ate mac n cheese in the cockpit. We had motored all day, so there was hot water for showers after dinner. On our boat, engine coolant is circulated through the water heater, so a hot shower is a consolation prize for having to motor all day.

Indian Key State Park

Early the next day, we decided to take the dinghy over to the little island and explore. Indian Key is an uninhabited, 11-acre key that was once (briefly) the county seat of Dade County. Dade County includes Miami, which is many miles to the northeast. Indian Key was inhabited in the 1830s by wreckers (who made their living off of salvage from ships wrecked on the nearby reef) and a few other settlers and their families. In 1840, a small band of Native Americans (Mikosukee) attacked the tiny settlement, killing 13 settlers, burning buildings, and scattering the survivors. (Read its history here.) Soon afterward, the little island was deserted, but the sandy roads, street signs, and stone structures remain.

It was a short distance so we used our Electric Paddle, a small lightweight alternative to our usual outboard motor – a heavy 15hp Tohatsu that requires a crane and pulley to lower onto the dinghy. The electric motor is not working very well and Phil has to smack it repeatedly to get it going. I’m hoping we won’t be rowing back to the boat.

As we got into very shallow water near the shore, I jumped out and dragged the dinghy through the sand. As I tied the painter to a tree, we started hearing some strange animal noises. It was a low-pitched grunting sound, and we started to make guesses.

“Baby alligators?” Phil suggested. “Or bullfrogs?”

“I think it’s wild boars,” I said, half joking and feeling a little spooked. We were definitely the only humans on the island.

“Chupacabra?” he said.

*Phil and the tall “cactus” trees on Indian Key.*

As we followed the sandy path to the entrance sign, Phil pointed out some strange tall trees that seemed to be growing cactus-like leaves. There were some large spreading shade trees (tamarind), and I could hear lots of birds: mourning doves, blackbirds, and one very loud osprey who wasn’t happy about our presence under his nest.

Phil, being the man he is, tucked the state park entrance fee into the supplied envelope and dropped it into the wooden box at the corner of the town square. (It didn’t matter that we were the only people within miles.)

*Phil on the sandy gravel trails of Indian Key.*

We walked the neatly maintained trails, reading the signs that explained what we were looking at: a cistern for collecting rainwater, house foundations, places where a courthouse and post office once stood, the warehouse where salvaged goods were stored, a blacksmith shop, and a wide-open square of grass that was once a central market. It was eerily empty, quiet except for birdsong and our footsteps on the gravel paths.

*This is what’s left of the warehouse foundation. These sites were labeled with detailed signs, as shown.*

When we were ready to return to the boat, I sat on the dinghy listening to the spooky grunting sounds in the dense mangroves. I took out my phone and looked up Chupacabra: gigantic goat-sucking lizards, the stuff of nightmares. Phil took a photo of me with Catmandu anchored in the background. That photo was selected as photo of the week for Cruising Compass magazine and was featured on the cover. Here it is:

*Phil’s photo made the cover of Cruising Compass Magazine. Does that make me a Cover Girl?*

We climbed in the dinghy and Phil beat on the electric motor for a few minutes. (I started rowing.) He soon had the little motor going again, and we got back to the boat. We weighed anchor at 11am, and had 16 nautical miles to go to our next anchorage. There was a light breeze and the ocean was calm, so we put up full sails and turned off the engine as we left Indian Key in our wake.

Day Two: Indian Key to Rodriguez Key

We spent an idyllic afternoon doing five knots under sail with just the power of the wind. The Middle Keys lay to our left, and we scanned the ocean to our right for wildlife. At 3:15 the dolphins came. Four large adults swam alongside the boat in great arcs through the surface of the green water. Phil took video as they followed the leader toward the bow. We heard the big dolphin huff as he dove under and the whole pod disappeared. I kept watching from the cockpit, hoping they would come back.

Phil took a short video of the dolphins swimming alongside our boat.

An hour later, we rounded the southeastern end of Rodriguez Key, and were surprised to find no fewer than a dozen boats anchored in the large area to the east of the island. There was plenty of space here, so we anchored about a half mile offshore in ten feet of water. Rodriquez Key is an uninhabited mangrove island lying south of Tavernier. It looked so dense as to be untraveled by humans, with no beach areas and no discernable paths. I tried to imagine landing here hundreds of years ago, hoping for fruit or fresh water and finding impenetrable, inedible mangrove trees.

By sunset, there were still 8-9 boats here but it’s a large anchorage with good protection, so the wind and water were calm. Phil made boat drinks and I made rice and beans for dinner. We stayed outside in the cockpit for as long as we could. It had been a perfect cruiser’s day: full sails, dolphins, a calm anchorage, and the exploration of a deserted, historic and spooky island. I couldn’t stop thinking about the sound of wild boars grunting in the underbrush.

Day Three: Rodriguez Key to No Name Harbor

For some reason, I was awake before sunrise and out on the deck with coffee before six. It was a great night for sleeping, with cool temperatures and softly rolling ripples to rock the boat. Phil was up early too, and we had our longest day planned, 44 nautical miles to No Name Harbor, just south of Miami Beach.

We refilled our coffee cups and pulled up anchor at 7:05. The sun rose as we set off, and I took the wheel as Phil set the mainsail. I checked on the cat – She was calm, lying on our bed in the aft cabin. Poor thing. She’ll be 20 years old in 2 months. I don’t think she will ever get used to her home moving around like this, the engines roaring in her cabin.

Once again, the wind was almost directly on our nose, so we motor-sailed with just the mainsail up for a while, then as we turned more to the north, we raised the jib. We sailed past Key Largo, noting John Pennekamp, where we explored with old Catmandu a few years ago. We made our way up the coast of Elliot Key, and at around 1:30 we saw a pod of playful dolphins on our starboard side, cavorting, dancing, and circling. They were smaller and more active than yesterday’s group, actually jumping up out of the water and spinning around.

*An aerial view of No Name Harbor, center front, showing how it used to be.*

No Name Harbor was already jammed with big boats at 3:15 pm, so we anchored just outside. It was a Saturday night and we anticipated loud music and partying within the harbor, so we were happy to find a quieter spot. Our friends Karl and Angela on Shangri La anchored just behind us, us but neither crew wanted to deploy a dinghy from its stowed configuration for a happy hour visit. We ate leftover rice and beans for dinner and prepared for an early departure.

For other cruisers, this is a great anchorage, with a good sandy bottom in about 11 feet of water. There is a loud Cuban and Seafood Restaurant with dinghy access inside the harbor, and an outdoor bar and grille closer to the entrance. We could hear live music coming from the bar at night. The anchorage is within sight of the seven Stiltsville Houses, but don’t venture over there in your sailboat, as the water depth is only about 2-3 feet near the houses. Also, these are private property within a national park and well protected.

Day Four: No Name Harbor to Our New Home: Loggerhead Marina, Hollywood

Phil pulled anchor even earlier today, at seven. The wind was supposed to increase to 15-20 knots in the afternoon, so we opted for an early start. I went below to make coffee and check on the cat. When I returned to the cockpit, Phil had set the sails for a little “wing on wing” sailing and turned off the engine. It was a light breeze on our stern, but as we turned more to the north, the wind died a bit and we turned on the motor. We averaged 5 or 6 knots for the whole day, with full sails out most of the way.

We motor sailed toward Port Everglades inlet, entering familiar territory where we could pick out features on the beach to our left. We saw the Margaritaville resort, Dania Pier, and the giant cranes used to load container ships as we approached the inlet. Boat traffic increased as we neared the port, and there were seven very large container ships and tankers anchored out, just waiting for their turns to enter.

With all the huge ships around, we decided to take the sails down before entering instead of in the turning basin. The small to medium motor yachts roared all around us, passing too close to our route and causing lots of wake. The water in the inlet was churned up like a washing machine and it was extremely rough trying to dodge motor boats and keep out of the way of the working tugs. As we entered the turning basin and headed south, the wind picked up to 17 knots.

With the wind, the roaring of the motors, and the noise of a busy port, we knew we weren’t in the Keys anymore. As we made our way down the Intracoastal Waterway, a mentally disturbed citizen yelled at us from the park beach on South Lake, “Welcome to Hollywood! Now go the f&*k home!”

Going home was exactly what we were doing. Yes, it was noisy and sometimes ugly, but this is where we have friends, familiarity, and some roots. It’s a boom town near Port Everglades, with more and bigger cruise ships and commercial mega-ship traffic. We are close to two major airports, dozens of world-renowned hospitals via I-95, and though we will miss the slow pace and the peace of the Keys, this is where we need to be right now.

Sailing cat Maggie in the cockpit — *Maggie, in a rare trip to the cockpit. Once in a while, we have to air her out.*

We pulled into our very familiar slip on dock 500, right where we had spent three years during and after the Covid pandemic. It is a tight space, and through the muscle memory and sheer skill of my captain, we slid into slip 509 with inches to spare on the stern. We tied the dock lines, hooked up the power, and headed out to our favorite pizza place. We were home, again.

Reasons for Moving

May11

“In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.”

– Mark Strand, Keeping Things Whole

Our plan, to the extent that we had one, was to explore the quirky environs of Key West and take a week or so in the Dry Tortugas for some snorkeling and walks around the historic fort. Then, when the weather and wind were right, we would turn eastward and jump over to the Bahamas for a season. True to the cliché, “cruisers’ plans are written in the sand at low tide,” ours changed – for very good reason.

The trip to the Dry Tortugas required a favorable weather window, not only to get out to the remote site, but also to get back. The prevailing winds were from the east and north, so sailing there could be fairly easy but sailing back, beating our way into the wind and waves, could be a nightmare.

We had friends who got smacked down by a waterspout during a storm at the anchorage there, and we didn’t want to experience that firsthand. They were okay; they were able to turn the engine on and motor hard into the wind, avoiding being beached. Of the six boats anchored that night, three ended up on the sand.

Key West

As we waited for favorable weather, we survived more than four months in the Garrison Bight mooring field of Key West. It was a rough way to live; we were buffeted by north winds almost constantly, had infrequent pump outs, and often got soaking wet just crossing the mile of choppy water to the dinghy dock. Phil’s review of the location on Active Captain featured two stars:

Exposed and often uncomfortable

The mooring field is completely exposed to the prevailing winter winds from the north, which makes living on the ball often uncomfortable and sometimes unsafe in a north wind. Very windy and wavy. We were there for four months. I kept a spreadsheet and recorded that 1/3 of the days had small craft advisories. Dinghy travel to shore typically involves full foulies or a swimsuit since the salt spray is unavoidable. There was one fatality from a neighbor taking her dinghy to her boat while we were there. Pump out is supposed to be weekly, but could be delayed to two weeks or more due to weather. Very little communication from the marina office. The mooring balls have NO PENNANTS, making picking up the mooring ball difficult except in calm weather.

*Hank’s Hair of the Dog Saloon, where their motto is, “In dog beers, I’ve only had one.”*

Despite the difficulties, we enjoyed Key West’s unique vibe, its “fabulous” restaurants and bars, and the chance to be locals. We changed our drivers’ licenses to a made-up Key West address, since the mooring field itself was not acceptable for that purpose. (We used the address of the dinghy dock.) We started asking for the local discount at the bars after a bartender at the Harry’s Hair of the Dog Saloon told us most places take 10% off for locals.

*Kay enjoying a Smoked Old Fashioned at the Hard Rock Cafe on Duval Street.*

We climbed the Lighthouse, toured the Coast Guard ship and the Truman Little White House, marched in the locals parade before Fantasy Fest, and placed a few “Catmandu” stickers in our favorite bars. We ate and drank our way down Duval Street and then explored restaurants on the back streets and narrow walkways.

*Phil and I marched in the locals’ parade during Fantasy Fest.*

*We climbed the lighthouse, across Whitehead Street from Hemingway’s house.*

We found the best Italian place (Only Wood Pizzaria Trattoria down a brick-lined alleyway off Duval St.), the best Mexican (Old Town Mexican Café, open-air patio with a tree for a rooftop), best vegetarian (The Café, friendliest staff in town) and attended the Friday night sound checks at The Green Parrot. We bought the T-shirts.

*Phil, exemplifying “happy hour” at Smokin’ Tuna.*

Toward the end of our stay, we realized we were never going to get a good enough weather window to visit the Dry Tortugas. We decided to try again in another year, another season, sometime in the future. We had good reasons for not going.

We welcomed my son Anthony and his wife Maeghan for a February vacation, opting for a week at a dock instead of subjecting them to travel through the mooring field. (The week at the Key West Bight Marina was nearly $1,200.) We took them to the Brewery for lunch, and they presented me with a morse-coded gold bracelet. Phil whipped out his “decoder ring,” and it took two letters for me to start crying with joy: G-R. Grammy! They brought me a gift like no other: a grandchild on the way, my first.

When March came, it was time to move. We had spent all the fun chips Key West had to offer, and we were tired of the mooring field. We had other reasons for moving, and slowly, sadly, we were realizing our dream of a spring season in the Bahamas would have to wait.

Key West to Key Lois to Marathon

We set out for Marathon two days after dropping the “kids” at the bus station. We had just been sailing with them a few days earlier, so it was fast and easy to leave the dock. We followed our October course in reverse: out of Key West Bight, left to the channel, past the harborside resorts and bars, past Wisteria and Tank Islands, and into Hawk Channel.

*Looking back at Key West, we saw a gigantic cruise ship docked across the island.*

The winds were light from the ESE, so we motored the 21 miles to Lois Key. Along the way we kept our eyes out for wildlife and saw several Portuguese Man-of-Wars, the blue-tinged floating blobs you want to avoid while swimming. Although we were using the autopilot, we had to hand-steer around scores of annoying little crab-pots. At just after 1 pm, we saw Lois Key in the distance and at 1:45, we dropped anchor there in 10 feet of water.

The winds had died down to about one knot, and seas were calm. We saw one large turtle break the surface near the stern as we relaxed in the cockpit. He dove again a minute later. Just before sunset, four large dolphins appeared from the east and swam under the boat. They came up on the other side, close to the cockpit. We watched them as they swam off to the west together.

Sunset was little more than an orange-pink glow in the western sky, and when darkness fell, it was intense. There were so many bright stars, but the only man-made lights came from the keys to the northeast. We could still see a faint glow to the west from Key West, but it was still a very dark night. The next morning, we had coffee and breakfast bars at 7:30 and then tried to pull the anchor. The anchor windlass failed to turn on. “I guess it’s arm day on the boat again,” Phil said, and muscled the heavy chain and anchor onboard at 8:40.

The wind and waves were calm as we motored toward Marathon. The ocean was flat with tiny ripples that sounded like turtles breaking the surface, but when I looked, it was nothing but water. I was at the helm for most of the day, giving Phil a deserved rest. We recognized land features to our left, sailing by the Bahia Honda Bridge and then the Seven-Mile Bridge as we approached Marathon. Since there was a waitlist for the mooring field, we anchored along the west coast of Boot Key at around 1:45 in the afternoon.

*First sunset in our new home in Boot Key Harbor, Marathon.*

The next day, we boarded a bus for Key West, retrieved our car and closed our PO box. On the way back, we got a call from the city marina – our mooring ball was ready: Romeo 8. It was easy to grab the pennant this time, and we settled in to our new home in Boot Key Harbor, near the entrance to Sister Creek. Ospreys and bald eagles were calling overhead, and later that afternoon, dolphins came to meet us.

*Enjoying live music at Dockside, a Boot Key Harbor waterside bar.*

I have already written my Love Song to Marathon, and Phil wrote a tribute to its many tiki bars. Nothing in the next six weeks changed my mind about this worthy cruisers’ destination. On the mooring balls, a community of helpful, friendly, concerned citizens take to the radio every morning at 9 and share the news of the day: upcoming activities, people coming and going, people needing help, and truly corny “Dad” jokes. We met friends at the Friday night happy hour that we will reconnect with, down the line. But this is a sailing blog, and by mid-April, it was time again to go sailing.

Other Reasons

To explain our reasons for moving, for not going to the Bahamas, and for heading north, I have to go back a few months. While we were hanging on to the mooring ball in Key West, I had a few medical tests done that I had put off for too long. One of these was a mammogram, followed by a biopsy. Here is an excerpt from my journal:

Feb. 1, 2024: I guess I will remember this date for as long as I live. It’s the last day I woke up without cancer.

The doctor called me and asked how I was, any soreness, swelling. Then she said, “The tests came back positive for malignancy. There are cancer cells in the breast and the lymph node.”

Pause. Breathe.

“It’s invasive ductal carcinoma and it’s metastatic,” she says quietly.

Phil is listening so I stay quiet while she tells me to pick up a CD of my images at the doctor’s office and make an appointment right away with an oncologist. She recommended Baptist Hospital Breast Cancer Center in Miami.

“Okay,” I said. “Is it treatable?” Then Phil got up and put his arm around me.

“Yes,” she said, and added, “I was pretty sure this would be the result. Sometimes I hate being right.”

Phil held me while I explained what she had said. I cried a little. I guess I’m allowed. I have metastatic breast cancer.

So, instead of planning a crossing of the Gulf Stream and a season in the Bahamas, we were planning a way to get closer to my oncologist, my future treatments, and an affordable dock where we can spend the hot hurricane season with air conditioning.

Some treatments were available at Fishermen’s Hospital in Marathon, so we headed for the mooring field there. Weekly treatments would start in mid-May in Miami, so we called our previous home, Loggerhead Marina in Hollywood, and asked about a slip.

“Your old slip will be available,” the manager said. “When will you be here?”

“Mid-April,” said Phil. It gave us six weeks in Marathon, where we could get some treatment, and it was closer to Miami, where we would be going for tests and appointments.

I am going to be a grandmother. Phil and I are sailing to the Bahamas next spring. Our plans have to be rewritten, in the sand, but these things will remain even after high tide.

We all have reasons for moving.

*Kay, in her Easter bonnet, getting treatment at Fishermen’s Hospital on Easter Sunday.*

Having a Ball in Key West

Oct26

“They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom.”

– Confucius

“Go West, young man.”

– Attributed to Horace Greeley

After 15 months at Safe Harbor Marina Marathon–with just a few sailing excursions into Hawk Channel– we took our dock rug, hoses, and electrical cords and prepared to sail away. Our friends Guy and Pam were there to help with lines, and it was sad to say goodbye. Phil backed out of the slip that early Saturday morning while I put away the lines and fenders. We wouldn’t need those where we were going.

Day One: Marathon to Key Lois

It was still, calm and sunny with no wind as we motored past the familiar vessels in the marina for the last time. We passed the boat wreck where cormorants, pelicans and ibises had entertained us as we watched them preening or fishing, or just drying their wings. Last week we watched every other species scatter as a bald eagle landed on the wreck with his fish dinner. Soon, his partner swooped in to share the leftovers. The panicked cormorants swam away in a tight group of about 20 birds, safety in numbers. There was no doubt as to who rules the roost. (We will miss the roost.)

The sea was as flat as it gets, so the boat moved smoothly through the morning. We saw dolphins for a few minutes, surprising since we hadn’t seen any in Marathon since around June. The smart ones must have moved on to cooler waters. Our poor seasick cat tossed her Friskees under the salon table and curled up under the aft bed. She is 19½ human years old, so we forgive her.

Phil had plotted a two-day course to Key West using paper charts and our Garmin chart plotter, so it was easy to navigate. We put Otto the autopilot on and with minor course corrections for the numerous crab pots, we made our way west to the first night’s anchorage at Key Lois (aka Loggerhead Key), arriving in early afternoon.

When we found a good spot to drop the anchor, I took the wheel and steered into the wind. However, I was not very good at keeping it there, and the boat kept turning. I’m working on that. We did manage to anchor in nine feet of water and turned off the engine. We were the only boat in the anchorage. A frigate bird, with its M-shaped wingspan and swallow tail, paid us a visit wheeling close to the mast on its way around the boat. We didn’t kill it and eat it, so I think it was a good omen.

When night came, we barbecued our veggie burgers and had celebratory gin and tonics. The half-moon lit up the sky, and the stars – so many stars – were brilliant. In the distance, we could see the glow coming from the lights of Key West, the only sizable community in the lower keys. The boat was rolling side to side, but we didn’t really notice until we went below. For such calm seas, we didn’t know why it was so roll-y. With the hatches open and a breeze blowing through, we slept like babies in a giant rocking cradle.

Day Two: Key Lois to Garrison Bight Mooring Field

I awoke before dawn and fed the meowing beast before settling outside to watch the sun rise. Phil made coffee in the French press, and we toasted bagels for breakfast. It was a sunny, cool morning with a better breeze, so we were anticipating a sailing day. Sure enough, as I motored into the wind and Phil pulled the anchor, we felt the rise of wind out of the east. The wind predictions (notoriously unreliable) were for northerly winds, but any wind that allowed us to raise the sails and head west was a blessing.

We sailed downwind with the mainsail pulled to the left side and the foresail to the right. This arrangement is called sailing “wing on wing,” as the two sails look like wings pulling the boat along. We occasionally hit 4.5 knots in a 10 or 12 knot breeze, but mostly cruised along dodging crab pots at 3 to 4 knots. It was peaceful and relaxing. We passed the keys we often traversed on our many trips down Route US1 from Marathon and saw the million-dollar mansions lining the beaches, which aren’t visible from the Overseas Highway. We sailed for more than ten nautical miles.

*Million-dollar mansions along the southern coast of Sugarloaf Key*

Welcome to Key West

When it was time to enter the Key West channel, I pointed into the wind and Phil dropped the sails. As usual, I couldn’t keep the boat from spinning too much, but I did a much better job this time. So that counts as progress. Phil got us back on course and we made the right turn at the end of Key West. That’s when the wind picked up and we saw wind speeds of 13 knots just when we didn’t need it. A narrow, busy channel is not a great place to rely on your sailing skills.

We motored through the channel between Tank Island and Key West. I made a little video of this passage as we tried to pick out the landmarks we knew: Galleon Resort, Southernmost Point, Mallory Square, Sunset Pier with strains of live music coming across the water.

We passed Wisteria Island (a much better island name than Tank, don’t you think?) and entered a narrow passage to make our way around the northern end of Fleming Island and south into our mooring field. A small motor boat pulled directly across our path as we made the turn, with no one onboard looking in our direction. (We didn’t sound the air horn. Phil is kinder than I am when it comes to inconsiderate boat captains.)

It was around 3 pm when we started searching for an empty mooring ball. The mooring field between Fleming and Sigsbee islands holds 149 mooring balls, chained securely to the bottom of the harbor. Boats hook their strongest lines to a ring at the top of the ball and hang on without anchoring. We were told there would be balls available, but we wandered through rows of moored boats and finally found one – but it was broken.

*Late afternoon in our* new neighborhood

Finally, at the far northeastern end of the field, we found two available balls. Phil drove up to one very slowly and left me at the helm to get him as close as possible to the ball. He had a boat hook to grab the line, a tricky maneuver even with his experience, and trickier still in the brisk wind. As I got too close to the ball, he yelled “neutral,” indicating that I should downshift. Only I couldn’t budge the shift lever and I panicked. “It won’t shift!” I said, as we drifted past the ball. Phil came to my rescue, and figured out that the engine was revving too fast to shift, so I relearned that important lesson.

Feeling like a mooring ball failure, I let Phil spin the boat around to approach the ball a second time. This time, I was driving so slowly, Phil was able to lasso the ball, muscle it up so he could reach the ring, and attach a mooring line. We were home.

Right away, the man in the adjacent boat introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Jack,” he yelled across the water. “Phil and Kay,” we answered and waved. He appears to be living alone on his boat (which I thought was named “Arrer-ten”) and maybe he was lonely and glad to have a neighbor. Phil chuckled when I asked him what Arrer ten means in French. “After Ten,” he said. The “f” and the “t” had worn off at the top.

We had just a couple more things to do: check in with the dockmaster, and have dinner. The dockmaster was a half hour dinghy ride away, but we found the right channels in the unfamiliar harbor and caught him just in time. He introduced himself as Beaver and collected $424 for a month of mooring, showers, laundry, dinghy dock and pump-out service. “It’s the only affordable housing in Key West,” he said.

Thai Island Restaurant was open, so we headed up to the outdoor seating area and got acquainted with our server, Roger. He was another Key West character, the interesting and unusual people we keep finding in our new community. (Read more about “Quirky Key West“) Roger, self-described as “fabulous!”, somehow got us to tell him our whole history, and he learned our names. We ordered two plates of delicious Thai stir fry and he brought a selection of sauces. I mentioned that one sauce was way too hot and he said, “Maybe you’re just way too white.” I wasn’t offended; he was joking. I think if your food hurts you, maybe you shouldn’t eat it.

*Sunset in the Garrison Bight Mooring Field*

Back in the dinghy with my tiny take-out box, we made our way back to Catmandu before dark. As we rested in the cockpit and sunset approached, we heard strains of bugle or cornet music coming from the nearby naval base. They play a familiar tune five minutes before sunset, and then the trumpet sounds the “Retreat” at sunset, signaling that the workday is over. We sat quietly and listened to the trumpet from across the waters of our new home, a poignant ending to a very long day.

Suck, Squeeze, Bang, Blow

May7

“Diesels have an unrivaled record of reliability in the marine environment.”

— Nigel Calder, “Marine Diesel Engines: Maintenance, Troubleshooting, and Repair”

“The test of the machine is the satisfaction it gives you. There isn’t any other test. If the machine produces tranquility it’s right. If it disturbs you it’s wrong until either the machine or your mind is changed.”

— Robert M. Pirsig, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”

As Kay wrote in her blog post Night Passage to Marathon, we limped in to our resort marina back in August with an engine pouring out white smoke and producing only low power on a twenty-hour overnight passage. It was an ordeal, but we had made it to our new home. After settling in at our marina, we started researching mechanics who could come and fix our engine. The closest Westerbeke reps were back in Miami and Fort Lauderdale who were not particularly interested in helping us when we were bobbing around on the anchor at No Name Harbor for five nights. I knew we could do better. We had to do better.

One morning, I chimed in on the Boot Key Harbor Cruisers’ Net that is broadcast every morning on VHF channel 80. I asked for help. The one mechanic that everyone recommended was the famous Diesel Don. I called him on the phone, and made an appointment to have him take a look.

Diesel engines, such as our Westerbeke 42B Four, are typically four-stroke internal combustion machines that operate according to four simple processes: suck, squeeze, bang, blow. If any of these processes do not occur, the engine does not run.

Suck: the piston sucks a mixture of air from the intake manifold and atomized diesel fuel from an injector.

Squeeze: the piston squeezes the diesel and air into a very small volume, on the order of 400 psi, which also heats them to a very high temperature.

Bang: when the temperature exceeds the self-ignition temperature, the mixture explodes with a bang, driving the piston downward with the expanding gas and rotating the crank shaft.

Blow: the piston blows the exhaust products out the exhaust manifold and toward the muffler.

Over a series of visits, Diesel Don tried all the less-expensive tests and fixes that could cause the white smoke and low power output conditions. First, he took off the valve cover and adjusted all the valves. Wasn’t that. (Please note, we are going to show some of the guts of the diesel engine below. If you are squeamish about engine guts, please avert your eyes.)

*Valve cover removed exposing the rocker arms, valve tops, and springs*

Next, we replaced all of the injectors. Wasn’t that.

Then, we decided to do a compression test of each cylinder. Cylinders 1 through 3 were in spec, but cylinder 4 had no compression whatsoever. That is, no squeeze.

There is a short list of conditions that could cause a lack of compression in one cylinder and not the others: blown head gasket, bad valves, bad piston rings, and broken piston connecting rod. Resolving any of these issues requires major engine surgery. Resolving some of them would require removing the 450-pound engine from the boat somehow and taking the engine apart in a machine shop. I hoped we could avoid having to remove the engine. That would mean towing the boat to a boatyard with a big crane to get the engine hoisted out, and then living in a hotel for week or two while the engine gets fixed.

Don and I rolled the dice and decided to remove the cylinder head at the marina, since maybe it could be fixed in place. The photos below showed the problem immediately: broken exhaust valve on the number four cylinder. The diesel fuel and air mixture was being pushed out the exhaust without being combusted, which created the white “smoke” we were seeing.

*Underside of the cylinder head, showing a broken exhaust valve. See the missing edge?*

*Close-up of the broken exhaust valve showing a piece is missing*

Don and I reviewed the parts manual for our engine, and he made me a long list of parts to order from Westerbeke. The list included replacing all of the valves, not just the broken one.

Two weeks and a thousand bucks later, the parts were in. Don had the engine back together and painted. We started it up, and it ran as good as new. No white smoke. Power to spare.

*Cylinder head and upper assembly, painted like new and ready to install*

*Bottom of repaired and refinished cylinder head*

“Are you happy?” asked Don.

“Yes, I’m happy!” I replied.