S/V AMICUS

Nassau to Grand Bahama Island

April 21—to Nassau

We left with the pink sun rising behind us.  The girls slept right through the chain clanking into the locker six inches from their heads, the motor running, and then the sails going up and the motor turning off.  How blissful it is when we can get underway, just the two of us.  A gentle breeze right on the beam completed the picture.  It was a little too gentle, but still, no complaints.  Soon Mark had five sails up and we were going 4-5 knots.  It would be our last day of sailing on the great Banks and its easy 1-2 foot waves.  The girls woke up thrilled to be going to Nassau.  We had talked it up for a long time; food dreams alone were enough to keep us all pretty excited to get to the biggest (only) city in the Bahamas.

The wind stayed under 10 knots and went NE to SE so we kept a hand on the tiller all morning.  By early afternoon a low line of clouds/squalls was headed our way.  We battened down and I got Lamar down for her nap.  The winds picked up, which was nice, though they swung more to the north, forward of the beam, and continued to pick up.  The last couple of hours, as Nassau became visible through the gloom, were rather "brisk," with the waves building considerably and the wind blowing up to 25 knots, more and more forward of the beam.  We were heeled over and the lower deck had green water in it almost constantly.  It was another reminder for me of how far I’ve come; normally  looking out the lower portholes and seeing water inches away would have me peeing in my pants.  But all was well.  Lamar slept and Cedar, feeling a bit seasick, lay quietly on the settee and listened to stories when I had a chance to read to her.  Mostly I was busy steering while Mark lessened sails bit by bit.  Within an hour we were down to a reefed jib and a reefed main, and still going almost 5 knots, though heeled way over and taking in a lot of water on the sides.   When we finally reached the waypoint and headed into the harbor which is just a long narrow current-ridden channel, we were able to fall off and sail more comfortably.  What a change of pace!  For the first time in 4 months we went under a bridge, saw tall buildings, and were tossed about in the multiple wakes of cruisers, ferries, ships.  It was enlivening though I felt a little rusty.  A police boat motored up to us, solemnly, then cracked a smile—"Is everything all right?"  We laughed with relief and waved them on.  I swear they did it on purpose.

We anchored on the north side, due to the forecasted northerlies coming our way.  But we were right on the edge of both the shore and the channel, and with 75 feet of chain out, it felt none too secure.  So we motored down another mile and anchored on the south side.  There was a definite anchorage there, but the holding wasn’t very good.  (His concern was well-founded; we talked to a cruiser who had pulled up a lawn chair with his anchor once.  ‘There’s 3 decades of city junk on the bottom.’) Mark dove on it, and set two anchors, and felt barely okay about it in light winds.  It was enough for me and the girls were very ready to be done!  The cabin was a disaster as usual, and instead of my normal gratitude that they had functioned on their own so well during the day, I decided I was tired of cleaning up enormous messes after such long days. Cedar had pulled out her art folder with its open bag of sequins, and a big wave had tossed the whole thing on the ground, and sequins were everywhere. Time to up the ante on the post-anchoring treats.  Cedar did not like the idea of cleaning up before anchoring, nor did she want her toy use curtailed.  We compromised with the idea of a "passage toy bag," plus dolls, blankets and pillows, to be used freely while underway.  Other toys will be off limits.  We’ll see if it works.

We were tired and running out of time, but no one was willing to look at one more meal of noodles or rice, so Mark set up the dinghy and we zipped over to the nearest dock, where they charged us $2 to rope up and climb to land.  We put the girls on our shoulders and sped down the crowded, dirty, busy road for a mile or two, finally landing at the grocery store.  The girls (following my example probably) were practically hysterical with delight, running through screaming "CARROTS!  BANANAS!!!"  I wanted to tell the other shoppers that they came by this excitement honestly, and were not just being obnoxious.  We flew through there, asked about rides back to the anchorage (no go—our rude awakening to city life), and hustled all the way back.  On the way Mark found us a cheap marina to move to tomorrow, when the winds were supposed to pick up.  We sped back to the dinghy on energy we didn’t know we had, piled on board, and the girls got the chocolate milk we’d been talking about for weeks.  They are very appreciative of treats, having had real experience with scarcity.  They have been such champs about it—even dividing their post-anchoring treats into thirds to make them last—that I let everything go when we are confronted with plenty.  Chocolate milk before supper?  Drink up!

Back on board, we cooked and instantly fell upon hamburgers, fried potatoes, carrots, and broccoli.  It was dark and way past bedtime, but the sense of accomplishment was strong and the burgers were excellent.  And once again the weather had turned remarkably cool and the sleeping was fantastic, notwithstanding the dance music floating by with the party ferries on a Saturday night.

April 22—Nassau

Back in a city!  After French toast and orange juice we moved first thing to the marina.  It was a tight squeeze and I was a bit anxious, not having had to steer the boat in a tight space since we left Ft. Lauderdale.  No problems.  This marina has no side docks so we have to hop onto the dock from the bowsprit.  Cedar loves the acrobatic challenge. 

While Mark put the boat back to rights, the girls and I walked to the nearest playground, which was beside a basketball court with a pick-up game in full swing.  Near the fence was a group of guys shouting hotly at each other, and I heard enough M-Fs to feel a tad nervous about getting too close.  But the girls, for whom Loud only means Boisterous, and for whom Bahamians are the friendliest people they have known, paid absolutely no attention to them and wouldn’t even consider playing a little farther away.   Later we sat down to watch the basketball, and I tried to explain what was going on.  It was a pretty rough game, and lots of arguing over fouls, but again the girls’ comfort with the heated verbal aggression surpassed my own.  They mostly wanted to understand what the tussle was about.  I am so glad that they are experiencing this culture for what it is—loud, explosive, interactive—rather than through all the prejudices of our country, as I do.  We are all used to old men loitering around and engaging us in conversation without worrying about being harassed.

We walked back with plastic bags picking up garbage, as we often do, and got a few strange looks.  There is so much garbage here that I’m sure no one even sees it.

In the afternoon we brightly headed out with the trailer for a library a couple of miles away.  We were quickly thwarted by narrow roads with no sidewalks and lots of swerving cars.  Attempting to find less traveled back roads, we were instantly in what I would easily call the roughest neighborhood we have ever walked through with our kids.  Soon we were just looking for a way back, which we found, much to my relief.  It may have just been a normal Sunday afternoon with everybody out on the town, who knows.  Since grandparents are reading this blog, I won’t bother you with details. 

The grocery store was closed, which was a crushing blow (the day before we’d only bought food for a day) until we realized that since we had no food on the boat, we’d HAVE to go out to eat.  So we headed for the city bridge, under which was a loud menagerie of fruit stands, conch shacks, and loudspeaker-preaching Christians.  There we listened to LOUD music and news (the coming election, and crime) while eating greasy fish, conch, and burgers served to us by a 12-year-old boy.  The girls were chatty on the walk back (comfortably sitting on their parents’ sagging shoulders) but we were exhausted.  This city life wears us out!

April 23, 2007

We wised up and took a bus downtown.  The buses here are great—all the convenience and none of the fuss that slows them down in the US.  They are small and can easily swerve in and out of traffic.  Just hail them anywhere and they will stop.  When you arrive, throw a buck in the driver’s direction.  We got downtown in about two minutes and stopped first at the big post office on the off chance that a lost package from my mom got stuck there.  The official was very nice about it but didn’t find the package.  We then trooped to the downtown library.  It was round, like a big gazebo, and pink.  No book exchange—disappointing—but we read newspapers and the girls pulled out books.  Then we played in the square outside. Downtown is very nice!  Clean, with lots of government buildings and pathways lined with giant palm trees.  Several courthouses surround the library, and while playing hide-and-seek Lamar and Cedar brushed disinterestedly right by a man in handcuffs, who was presumably being escorted to court (and chatting jovially with his police escort).  All very interactive as usual; we often see policemen in heated interactions—are they warning somebody, or simply discussing politics?   It’s hard to tell, but you know in the US if you see a policeman and a civilian shouting you run away in fear of imminent violence.  Not so here.

A couple more blocks toward the harbor (which you can’t see because of the cruise liner which is higher than the highest building downtown) , and we were in the thick of the cruise ship touristing crowd.  They come off those ships by the thousands and I’m sure they spend the money.  One shop clerk told me that they get as many as 7 cruise ships landing at once.  We hopped quickly onto the nearest bus and got out of there, back to the bridge with the fruit stands.  We bought some fresh foods and shouldered the girls home the rest of the way, in time for a late lunch.

There is something about city life that gives both Mark and I headaches.  (All the shoulder-carrying?  The exhaust fumes?  Overstimuation?)  We all rested in the afternoon.  We offered the security guard at the marina some pizza; he’s been very friendly and chatty with us, and Mark noticed a bulletin board with ads up for help in finding stolen boats!  So we are grateful for his services.

April 24

The day to prepare to go.  We wanted to get out of our slip and go to an anchorage right beside the entrance to the ocean, but the wind never settled down enough for us to dare to back out.  The current wasn’t helping either.  So we decided to wait til morning to leave, hoping the wind would die down at dawn as it usually does.  It was a slow day, resting, doing the big shop, discussing strategy for the 137-mile-passage ahead.

April 25-26—Leaving Nassau

We woke up with the wind still blowing over 15 knots and keeping us pinned in the slip.  We agonized over what to do, and decided to stay put.  Always difficult, to get all ready, then to stay.  My least favorite aspect of cruising.  However, we walked out to another park where the wind was unfettered from the ocean, and it didn’t look too bad.  We returned to the boat to wait for slack tide so at least we could get out of the slip.  Mark calculated that, at our average speed, we could still leave today and arrive late tomorrow night, losing only one night of sleep.  Hurray!  We took the seasick pills and took off right then.  Mark once again had an elaborate set of ropes pulling the boat every which way, and I just followed instructions as he backed out, turned, and pulled out of there.  First hurdle is over!

We loved Nassau, for a short while, but we were ready to leave.  The wind was just behind the beam and the seas were about 4 feet but with long intervals.  In short, it was ideal sailing weather and we flew along over 6 knots.  What a relief to be past the pre-passage days and hours, always the worst part of the trip!  The motion was very fluid, moving so fast through the waves, and we didn’t even get seasick as long as we were careful.  I am so much more proactive about this than I used to be, I can’t believe how little I used to do to prevent seasickness.  It’s not a cut-and-dried thing at all, but is affected by a million physiological and physical  factors, many of which we control.  Someday I’m going to write an article about this.

The wind was very steady and our wind vane took charge early, leaving us free to amuse ourselves.  In the late afternoon we even got a jump start on the sleep deprivation; Mark took a nap while I cooked and ate dinner with the girls, made up the beds, checked outside for ships, and watched the GPS.  It’s amazing what can be done when we are not seasick!  With only a little rat racing the girls went to sleep—each on their own settee this time—and Mark took the first watch.  We were in the shipping lane, and had several ships to contend with.  Mark once found himself between ships!  They usually change course to avoid you, but they’re usually not very communicative about what they’re doing on the radio, if you can even get them, so it’s always a little unnerving.  The wind held, for the most part, and we managed to sail briskly all night.  I even slept, for a change—lightly, but anything is way better than nothing.  Mark wouldn’t say he slept, but he thinks he dozed, between 12-4 when I was on watch.  Even being on watch wasn’t hard; I just held the timer in my hand.  When it went off every 15 minutes, I looked up groggily, checked for ships, and went back down.  It was damp and uncomfortable, but who cares when you’re that tired.  The girls slept through the night without a peep except Lamar broke into loud laughter at 5:00 a.m., according to Mark.

The girls were both up at 6:00, tickled to be alive.  They love passages more than we do, that’s for sure.  We still had a long day ahead but had traveled so quickly that we knew we’d get in before dark that night.

It was a long day.  Lamar threw up without warning, but was fine both before and after.  The wind slowly started to clock behind us, necessitating more wind to keep the sails full, but instead dropping down.  Eventually we turned on the motor.  We got a little rain shower.  We were all tired, and quiet.  I read to the girls a lot.  We started eating regular food, which the girls weren’t thrilled about. (ginger cookies and ginger ale are a lot more fun).  Lamar napped right on schedule.  Mark napped a couple of times too.  By late afternoon we were all pretty toasted, and the wind started picking up from right behind us.  Mark had the main all the way out and we started getting some pretty big swells, so we kept the motor on to keep up our speed.  Eventually we passed Freeport—very industrial—and then the real marathon began inside, with an evening arrival still hours away. I read and read and read to the girls, too tired to try to think of anything else.  Five minutes without supervision and they started to lose it, though to their credit, they stuck with their passage toys.  Lamar got a ball in the eye (no black eye though) and also lost all her bangs!  Due to Cedar cutting her hair!  Those curls are mommy’s pride and joy but I suppose they will grow back....

We pulled into the marina at West End, Grand Bahama Island.  I was not on my best game, and we had some wind and some quick turns to make, and I bungled coming in enough that a guy had to come out and grab a few lines and we had to pull ourselves out of the adjacent slip.  But no harm was done. 

What a contrast—we were ready to fall asleep,  while the girls fairly leapt off the boat and RAN all the way to the pool/beach/playground they remembered from last December.  I wiltingly followed. 

April 27—West End

We woke up refreshed and ready to go—the difference between getting a bad sleep and getting no sleep are huge as far as length of recovery time.  Both Mark and I felt that we could have continued another night.  Progress!

Here we are at our original Bahamas spot, in a position to get in the flow of the gulf stream and take it as far north as weather and our courage allow.  Interesting how different is our perspective from when we were here in December.  We do love the small luxuries—internet with a phone!  our first indoor shower for four months!—but the whole place seems completely un-Bahama-like.  The kids love the pool and the bikes and the manicured beaches—to us it’s just one more beach.  We have one foot in the US already—we can now get NPR and are physically a lot closer to the capital of Florida than the capitol of the Bahamas.  The weight room with CNN, the staff uniforms, the "deep massage," it is all clearly orchestrated to provide North Americans with a primo luxury vacation. 

Most of all we miss our friends.  This is where we really found community and connection with the Teskeys and the Deckers at Christmas and New Years.  It is strange to be here alone.  Hopefully we can leave as early as Tuesday.

Last stop in the Exumas

April 16-more of Cambridge Cay

At suppertime I was fiddling with the pressure cooker lid while the beans were boiling rapidly. Somehow Cedar either tipped or jarred the pot and the boiling beans spilled/splashed on her. Instantly Mark grabbed her and poured cold water all over her body, calling out for more. "Cold water! Cold water!" After a second or two he hollered, "Where are you burnt?" and Cedar, already hysterical, screamed "NOWHERE!" Lamar was also hysterical by now. After a minute of calming down, it became apparent that her leg was in fact burned. We piled on the aloe and put it in front of the fan and gave her a homeopathic remedy. There were no blisters. Mark gave a sigh of relief and pronounced it a first-degree burn only. I told her every burn story I could think of (my sister's burnt foot in the mountains of Wyoming topping the list) and then branched out into all other accidents. It kept her entranced, but after a half hour she was crying and complaining of the pain again. We gave her Tylenol and another half hour went by. She said the pain was much better and we had a fairly normal evening. The burn covered the inside of her thigh and some on her calf as well.

Mercifully, it was the first cool weather we'd had in weeks. Instead of being restless from heat, we snuggled under blankets and even Cedar slept well. The mildness of her burn is no doubt due to Mark's brilliant water-throwing reflex because that water was definitely boiling. I was only too happy to sleep on a wet cushion that night. We were reminded of our vulnerability and grateful once again for health and wellbeing, without which a trip like this would never even be in the realm of possibility.

April 18-19 Norman's Cay

We took advantage of light winds to motor then sail 25 miles north to Norman's Cay. This will be our last Exuma island, so we resolved to take full advantage. With the relatively easy living Mark and I are ready for a little excitement, but the girls could never tire of the beach and water and the endless fort-building, shell-collecting, and snorkeling/swimming that avails itself here. To amuse ourselves Mark and I have taken to reading aloud to each other, as well as the occasional borrowed DVD movie, watched on our laptop with such minimal sound that we have to guess at the dialogue. These movies have been a great escape for us; we get lost in Hollywood's realities and can almost forget (til we hop outside to pee) that the wind is blowing 20 knots and our anchor could drag at any second and toss us onto shore.

The other incongruity with the movies is the food deprivation that accompanies it. No carton of ice cream for us! Even the oranges hanging over the settee are off limits; we gave up fruit long ago so that Cedar and Lamar could each get ½ an orange a day, minus whatever section I may beg off of them. They also get the sweet potatoes, the other lone remnant of fresh food on this boat. One thing I've learned about stapes: we still have all the dry beans and rice we could eat, but we would have to be in true starvation mode to eat any more of it. At our current level of hunger, we eat the required amounts, but no more. I could have stored fewer plain staples and a bit more fun food.

Enough already with the food woes! I am also suffering from a mild case of swimmer's ear and have not swum for several days. Instead, we have explored Norman's Cay which has the dubious honor of being the old center of one of the biggest drug cartels in America, the home and operation of drug runner Carlos Lehder. It is now in ruins, and Mark and I were both fascinated to poke around and imagine: was this Lehder's house? (the ruined mansion atop the hill) The workers' quarters? The harem? (the pile of trailer homes) There was even the remains of a conference room and offices-what was taught here? Could there be any stashes of cocaine hidden somewhere still? Before the big drug bust (which we heard was in the 80s, unverified info.) there were even unproven murders of cruisers who happened accidently into the cove where we were now anchored. I wonder what it took to take this place down? A plane lies half-buried in the shallows. Cedar learned a lot and is fascinated by the whole idea of drugs, and not for the first time either. It comes up in her read-aloud stories, a dead giveaway that it's ticking away in her brain somewhere.

April 20-other side of Norman's

This morning we woke up to north winds-finally the westerlies are clocking around. The girls and I visited a tiny island while Mark scrubbed the hull once again (the need for a coat of anti-fouling is acute at this point). Coming back we were surprised with strong NE winds, already coming through the cut from Exuma Sound. The easterlies are back, and we lost no time getting out of there. We motored around the island and all its reefs and sandbars, anchoring on the other side-a seemingly simple maneuver which, due to faulty waypoint recording on our GPS (oops) and a sudden steep wave chop, became a harrowing ordeal as we found ourselves rollicking near dark-colored patches of water (coral reefs) that despite our dedication to the GPS, kept appearing out of nowhere. Finally we gave up on the waypoints and crawled in by eyesight alone-the difficult, though most dependable method. Once again, one can never rely too heavily on electronics. It's one thing to have to psyche up for a challenge and then meet it, but quite another to be mentally prepared only for another calm day and then be accosted with fear and trembling. The silver lining was once again the girls' heroics; despite the crashing about they never got seasick, but dove around on the settees (don't ask me how they jump around so much without crashing amid such motion) and happily dove for their "treats" when we finally arrived.

Starting tomorrow, we should be moving with a purpose again. According to Chris Parker, the "Bermuda high" is back and we should have long periods of ideal north-bound sailing weather in the near future. We will sail to Nassau tomorrow to provision up, then shoot up for the Grand Bahama Is. at the next opportunity. Then rest up for the big crossing back, this time with the wind and the gulf stream both pulling for us.

Back to Exuma Park

April 9-Staniel Cay

Another letdown day. Both Spoony and Iceni left. We had to shop and wanted, theoretically, to take advantage of the holiday island festivities, which included a cookout and egg hunt. But then I came back from a hot walk all over town without essential staples like carrots, apples and potatoes, which was worrisome since we may not get to a store again for a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, the girls had collected some eggs which we realized were not leftovers from our personal hunt, but probably meant for the official hunt that afternoon. We put a few back and felt embarrassed. These two things disheartened us to the point where we reconsidered sticking around. When we found out that the cookout was a similar version of the hamburgers we'd already eaten and at the same pricey prices, we dragged ourselves home instead for chicken leftovers.

I did get a couple of hours on the internet, which I hadn't had for weeks or months, while Mark took the girls to the beach rumored to be inhabited by wild pigs. Sure enough, the lone male pig actually tried to snout its way into the dinghy before they threw it some easter eggs and turned around.

Before sunset we motored away from town to another anchorage nearby. Amazing how good it feels to move sometimes, even just a mile or two away, on an otherwise unmotivated day.

April 10-to Thomas Cay

With light winds behind us we sailed the few miles to another all-around anchorage to weather another front, nestled in between private islands with current all around us.

Cedar turned around an otherwise humdrum day by putting together all her snorkeling skills-breathing, holding her mouth closed, floating head down. She had peeked below in spurts before, holding her breath. Now, suddenly, she Got It. And was characteristically unstoppable. She floated, head down, for the next 45 minutes. Mark snorkeled with her in the deeper water. He remarked that it's one of the most acutely thrilling things they have ever done together. When she came out she was shaking with cold but could not stop chattering, so astounded was she at the world below the surface she'd discovered, and so proud was she of her accomplishment. All that evening we all felt her thrill and vowed to find every good snorkeling spot we could from here on out. The next night we even baked a chocolate cake to celebrate.

Aside from snorkeling though, it seems the girls' amusements are narrowing rather than expanding. I hate to admit it but it does seem like their toys are not getting much use anymore. There are hardly any to begin with, and pulling them out of their toybags always elicits an unfavorable response from us as it creates a mess that we are tired of cleaning up. Sometimes I'd like to throw the whole lot in the ocean and start fresh. They don't complain-they don't know the difference-but I wish they had more to do on long days on the boat, without our involvement. We rely heavily on reading, art projects, card games, things that take adult orchestration. Left to their own devices, Cedar now gets lost in her books. No joke! She cannot read but you'd never guess it. Her mind is far away in the Long Winter, and she transports us all there. She reads aloud for HOURS, sometimes verbatim what I've read to her, sometimes whole created chapters. (Mark once checked in with me, "Did Pa's wheat really get stolen?") What does Lamar do? Well, picture her with an ink-covered dolly hidden underneath her half-buttoned dress, nursing. She is bouncing up and down and singing a rollicking ballad without the crucial consonants, her face smeared with oats.

April 11-Thomas Cay

This morning we sat and watched a brisk dark front pass over. Mark was gloating over our anchor situation until he realized at the last minute that the tide had changed and the front was coming in from the north. A dragging was very possible. So he got out there while the drama was occurring over his head and dropped a second anchor just in the nick of time. After that we rested easy inside. It was a very rainy day, highly unusual. Gray above and not much wind after the initial front, but a constant drizzle or downpour. Reminded me of our days on Lake Superior. We passed the time pleasantly enough and made a quick run for shore in the late afternoon between showers.

Once again Mark and I have struggled with mood swings. We decided to stop talking about our future, as it was starting to feel more like an indulgence, an escape from the present, than the productive envisioning that it started as. We are slowly, slowly learning the fine art of turning around. It takes mental skills that are apparently rusty. We have done it, but it's hardly been graceful.

April 12-16-Cambridge Cay

We tried sailing out in the Sound but soon in a dead, swelly calm I took down the flapping sails and we motored into Cambridge Cay. We are once again in Exuma Park, which has a relatively sheltered anchorage for west winds (rare in the Exumas) and lots of trails and beaches and snorkeling. We decided to stay through the next cold front several days away.

It is officially not as comfortable as it used to be. Slowly but surely the temperature and the sun are becoming warmer, and recent light winds accentuate the change. We spend a lot of time in the water, which is a great cooldown. The downside is that in the cabin it's hot, sweaty, sunny, and salt-sticky. Nothing ever seems dry. With no grocery or water in sight we are skimping on our best comforts-yummy food and fresh water showers. And the sun's intensity is increasing quickly. We have to really watch it now or we get sunburnt.

Cedar continues to search out every snorkeling opportunity. She checks out the anchor with dad and seems equally fascinated by designated snorkeling grounds teeming with reefs and fish, and plain sand with the occasional shell. Her biggest problem is keeping her mouth closed and clamped over the snorkel; she is so eager to discuss every single thing she sees. Every few seconds she comes up, frees her mouth, exclaims, gets a wave or two in her mouth, and goes down again. Only recently has she completed a stint in the water without a sore throat from all the salt swallowed.

So, we snorkel at least once a day. New sightings have included a sleeping shark and a sunk plane. There is only one downer to this new pastime, which is that it leaves Lamar out. She is always game to try again, but her snorkel is more of a toddler toy than the real thing, without a decent seal, and she always comes up gasping and choking. We are kicking ourselves for not buying her the real thing. Cedar is understandably reluctant to share her most precious piece of gear.

Well not withstanding your probable tolerant smiles, I have to say that after only two days of silence on the matter, we had a moment of truth and once again have a Plan. (Another sailing family commented, "They say sailors' plans are made of jello. Ours is made of jello-powder." We concur.) We have learned so much about what we like about voyaging, and also what we don't like. The passage-intensive cruising to which we aspire will take some "homework" in the form of offshore experience with others; until then we are tied to coastal cruising, with which we feel plenty satiated. It is time to regroup. Therefore, we are planning to return to the Great Lakes this summer and make our next land-home in the Duluth area. While this might not sound like a very exciting plan to some, to us it is not only a relief-to have a direction again-but also uplifting to realize how much we love our home state and to look forward to returning to the land, the people, and all the things we love there. While this trip has wetted our appetites for more and distant cruising, both Mark and I have long dreamed of living in the Duluth area, and this is our chance to make it happen at least for a while.

I have to mention what an incredible process it has been for Mark and I to reach this point. It floors me to think of the mental and emotional growth that has pushed its way into our selves and our relationship in the last year. We have watched not only ourselves but other couples struggle under similar mental strain; thankfully, all our friends have come through with flying colors. It's sink or swim, isn't it? If you need a marriage workshop with its intense challenges and rewards, go sailing. Lacking the funds, you could always glue yourselves together at the hip, lower your financial input, eliminate all distractions, create a few more adverse conditions, and see what happens. At least we have our kids to keep us from drowning in our own juices, and remind us that outside of everything else we have this single most important job to do.

So…northbound we are! In the contrary ways of the Providential Wind, we came to this realization right on the cusp of a most unusual week of northwesterly winds-great for heading to the Caribbean, impossible for those bound for the US. So we are both itching to get going and stuck for another week. It's okay though; suddenly we want to make good use of this last beach and snorkel time for the girls. We had two sleepless nights in a row, one hot and saltry and the next with a big front blowing through at 2 a.m. Mark had a second anchor ready, due to another current/wind changing-and-opposed situation occurring in the night, but in the end Amicus stayed put and we could have gotten some sleep.

Leaving Long Island

March 29 Salt Pond, Long Island

Today we walked a trail to the oceanside beach. It was just a driveway mostly, but took us by the most gorgeous topography we've seen in the Bahamas, with big hills, huge shading palm trees, and wild goats. The beach was also breathtaking, with so many corals, reefs, rocks, and cliffs everywhere that there was no uniformity to the surf. Spoony came too and the girls played for hours collecting interesting garbage bits and storing them in overhanging caves. It was a lot of sun though; we were out midday, which we usually avoid, and should now that the days are getting so long. Somehow I'd missed Lamar's face in the sunblocking of the morning and she was beat-red at night. Ack! Luckily we have greasy calendula cream and she never seemed in pain.

March 30

"Grace" arrived from Georgetown! We rested up in the morning and cleaned up a bit-such a busy schedule these days-and in the afternoon explored a big cave with Grace. Cedar and Finn scrambled around with their flashlights and we watched spiders and bats on the ceiling. It was actually quite spooky and I was glad to leave. Cedar is a true caver and just wanted to go further and further in.

March 31

One full day left, and we made the most of it. We dinghyed to shore, hitchhiked out to Turtle Cove, followed word of mouth directions down a long hot dusty road with girls on our shoulders, and eventually made it to the Blue Hole of all Blue Holes-the one that the diver is trying to break the world record in in a couple of weeks. Except for a platform over the middle of the hole, the area was untouched-and gorgeous. I know I keep using the same words but the colors out here are just unbelievable. It's like we're constantly visually overstimulated. I remember the "gray day" phenomenon back in the US and can hardly believe it's the same universe.

The girls played in the shallows (Cedar is now dog-paddling for short periods) and Mark and I both snorkeled around the Hole and checked out some coral cliffs nearby. That hole is…hard to describe. I barely dared swim over it, afraid I would somehow get sucked down to the center of the earth…

We got a ride back with a retired preacher, a deeply contented man whose presence you didn't want to leave. He drove us all the way to our dinghy because "if a man asks you to go a mile, go with him two." That evening we went to the beach to hang out, maybe for the last time, with Spoony and Grace. The kids played, the men talked about the weather and the sailing plans, and the women talked about food and other supremely interesting matters. I just love Megan and Jen (the moms) and will sorely miss them. They are funny and frank, gutsy older moms whose struggles I share and with whom I can laugh about almost anything.

April 1-To Hog Cay

Well, Mark and I couldn't agree on where to go. To make a long and excruciatingly painful story short, we started heading west to the east end of the Exumas, then changed our minds and course and followed Grace and Spoony up to the north end of Long Island. It was a fantastic, boisterous sail, with winds 15-25 knots the whole way. We flew at 6-7 knots. Though we'd (tearfully for me) said our good-byes that morning, they were happy to welcome us back at the end of the day when we sailed in, last as always. Alouette joined us also, which made for a party of 8 parents and 9 kids on the beach that night. I guess I just wasn't ready to say good-bye.

April 2-to Calabash Bay

Alouette dinghyed up to the tip of Long Island that morning and reported that the anchorage up in Calabash Bay wasn't too swelly, so we all sailed up there to get within striking distance of the Columbus monument that juts up at the tip of the island.

Spoony and Alouette headed out on the ocean in their larger dinghies to reach the monument by water. For us, we took the inside route, and dinghied way inland to a bridge where we docked the boat and put both girls on our backs and headed up a long dirt road that leads to the very northern tip of the island. We'd hoped for a ride but saw no vehicles. It felt like a real accomplishment to get there-remote and strikingly beautiful. It was fun to stand at the top of these white cliffs, hear the swells crash against the rocks below, feel the immensity of the ocean, and imagine Columbus landing here (though he probably didn't land exactly here-no one knows definitively where he landed). There was a simple and beautiful monument which was dedicated both to the peaceful Lucayan natives, and to the landing of Columbus. At first it's hard not to look twice and grimace at the irony of this (soon after Columbus landed the Lucayan Indians were exterminated by the Spanish). But somehow in that majestic setting I could accept the paradoxes of life, and appreciate both the centuries of simple Lucayan life on this remote and lovely island, and the incredible feat that landing here from the Old World certainly was.

We got back with blisters on our feet and just enough time to enjoy one more evening with all the families on the beach. This time it felt like a real good-bye. We took pictures and gave hugs. Jen told me not to start crying or it would set her right off. We didn't get back to the boat until sunset and ate dinner after bedtime, as we've been doing for days to accommodate our social beach schedule. Tomorrow we would be on our own again, for the others were all headed to Conception Island-another outer island. We were torn between two good options, as rare light winds were predicted for the outer islands for several days, making possible visits to exposed places-but in the end opted for what was predicted to be the perfect full-moon overnight sail back to the Exumas. (Mark was also skeptical that the light wind forecast would hold, since we'd had zero light winds for over a month. Sure enough, it did not hold.)

April 3-4-leaving Long Island

Everyone but us left early in the morning, and we heard enough on the radio to conjecture that they were having a rough go of it, with winds still in the 20s and heavy seas, almost on the nose. Even so we were fidgety to go-it's always difficult to be left behind. We couldn't leave early though, because we needed to arrive at a precise time to successfully enter an inlet in the Exumas in daylight and flood tide, without a big NE swell. So we prepared every inch of the boat, drank water, and tried to rest. It was apparent that the winds were still blowing pretty hard-15 to 20 at least-and that the seas would be high when we left. We would be running with them, but it would be our biggest overnight seas. We just hoped they would moderate in time for us to enter the Exumas the next morning.

We all took seasick meds. at noon, but they did not have the intended affect on Cedar (sleepiness) but instead made her crabby and irritable, so sleep was out for the rest of us that afternoon. We took off at 4:30 and by 5:30 were out of the bay, sailing at a broad reach. The waves started as nil but quickly grew. The wind had definitely moderated to 15 knots or so. I know I keep saying this, but it was incredibly gorgeous, the setting sun, the glistening waves. We quickly ate a precooked dinner and cleaned it up before we really started to roll.

By sunset we were in 6-8 foot waves which were steeper than we'd expected. The interval seemed more like 4-5 seconds, not the 6 predicted. Or maybe we were just intimidated. We've never watched the sun go down in big seas like that. And though we've felt rolly before, this was different. I mean, we were ROLLING. It was rockus, and it was LOUD. Mark has heard that we have a "wet boat." We found out what that meant! The entire deck was wet on both sides, often inches deep, as waves regularly washed over the stanchions. All portholes were closed. All our preparation served us well, for not a single thing fell out or broke. I experienced my first wave breaking into the cockpit-not the whole thing, just the breaker on top-but still.

Unfortunately our perfect overnight sail was already looking less than perfect. For one thing, the girls were struggling. Lamar must have been extremely uncomfortable, though she never said she was seasick and she never threw up. Instead, she just cried. Cedar was cheerful in a very naughty sort of way-"No mom, I'm not going to lie down there!-" and both Mark and I were close enough to being seasick that we couldn't do much about anything. Reading stories was out of the question. We got them situated for sleeping but they were wide-eyed and hyper, jumping around and kicking each other. We were learning fast a few things-like, they can't sleep together when it's that rolly. They just roll into each other. Eventually I lay between them, so Cedar was smooshed against the wall and Lamar was smooshed against the lee cloth, and my body kept them in place til they were finally asleep. But once I left, Lamar was soon awake. Eventually she slept on the other settee, smooshed between me and the cushion, but woke frequently throughout the night. Even Cedar woke up several times. There just wasn't that much sleeping to be had, especially at the beginning.

My first watch outside after dark was both brilliant and terrifying. After the first 10,000 or so waves passed under us, I began to breathe again and appreciate the beauty around me. The full moon was rising right behind us. If I'd had the equipment and the skills, I could have taken some contest-worthy shots of the wind vane silhouetted-now against the moonshadow, now against the moon-as the boat rollicked up and down. The whitecaps caught the moonlight and glistened. There was no land, boats, or buoys in sight. I decided that this was enough ocean for me; it was hard to imagine anything more remote. Once outside, neither Mark or I were ever seasick. The wind was steady at first, but after awhile I couldn't get the wind vane to hold a course. After trying several things I just hand-steered, reluctant to wake Mark up. At first it was calming to steer the boat myself (it's always better to be the driver than the passenger) but I was definitely trapped. I couldn't go down and take a bearing, I couldn't get my water bottle, and I couldn't go to the girls if they cried. So after an hour or two I woke up Mark. He put a reef in the mizzen and re-set the wind vane and that was all it took. But I was tired and he was okay so I went below.

And this is how we spent the rest of the night. The wind was definitely moderating and so were the seas. The rolling lessened, and suddenly the girls started sleeping-Lamar and I crushed together on the single settee, Cedar splayed out on the double settee, and Mark in the cockpit, waking himself up to look around and make adjustments every 15 minutes. We were back in familiar territory-"regular" rolling-and we relaxed. I actually managed to doze, and so did Mark. He changed course a couple of times, as the wind continued to drop and we were not going to make the original inlet by the tidal flood. At 4:00 he changed course to head for the nearest inlet and I came out so that he could put up the whisker pole. We headed due downwind and Mark went downstairs to sleep. I dozed in the cockpit but, once again, the wind vane kept riding us up into the wind. So I blearily held the tiller and watched the moon go down and the east turn light. At 6:00 Mark popped his head out and at 6:30 he listened to Chris Parker on the radio. We were barely moving, with the sails flapping around, but after the sun came up a nice breeze kicked in. Soon after that the girls were up, extremely cheerful because breakfast after overnights consists of cold cereal and hot chocolate, and they'd been anticipating it for days. (And Ramen with egg for lunch! The treats go on and on!) I set about making breakfast and setting the upheaval in the cabin to rights, while Mark once again adjusted the sails and the wind vane and got it working again. He is confident that, with sails set right to "balance" the boat, the wind vane works in all but the lightest winds.

After breakfast I started reading a story to the girls and dozed off in the middle. They made a fort on the floor with all their blankets and cushions and 'read' their books, all of which allowed me to get that blissful few minutes before they started squabbling in earnest and I was forced out of my sleep to lay down the law. Besides, we were coming to the inlet, exactly on time. We turned on the motor and went through. It was a simple matter in these conditions, and I couldn't help but admire how Mark sets us up for success. One cannot always control conditions like these, but he had put in a lot of energy to see that it should go right, and in my exhausted frame of mind I was grateful that this potentially stressful spot was so manageable.

Back on the Exuma "bank," the waves were gone and life returned to normal. We decided to sail about 12 miles north to the town of Black Point (already visited) to collect food and water. Because of the dozing during the night, we both felt more normal than we ever had after an overnight. Another triumph was that neither of us had a (stress/dehydration/exhaustion/seasick med. hangover) headache. We could function! And sailing was the easiest way to get through the morning. There was a 10-knot breeze right on the beam. We arrived in the early afternoon, napped, and even took a trip to town. After being a champ for 24 hours, Cedar fell apart and had to be dragged back to the dinghy, much to the amusement of the many children who seem to perpetually take over the dock area and the main street in town. A little girl asked me, "How old are they? Were they born white?" She probably thought either Cedar or we were nuts, and I could hardly blame her. Who were these strange people descending on them with such loud unhappiness? The rest of the day was survival-oriented, and the girls tested our endurance once again at bedtime. Cedar, who has been expanding her realm of rebellion, realized that she could bypass the entire bedtime routine. She sat out on the settee in protest, which of course caused Lamar to stay wide awake, wondering what in the world would happen if Cedar was not there to go to sleep at bedtime. I think they were both screaming a little later-my memory is foggy at this point-but then instantly crashed when Mark and I lay down ourselves and turned out all the lights. Sleep at last.