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| This website has sort of evolved over the years, the only constant being the use of very aged FrontPage 2000 software. At this point it's more of a "blog", i.e. we aren't moving around as much and it would make more sense to use more typical blogging software. But, that's lot of work and it won't happen anytime soon. So, we have taken the material off the home page and pasted it here, along with new stuff afterward. If you have already read about Cape Canaveral, just skip down to where the new stuff begins by clicking here. 2014
One Tough Boat Rhyme of the Modern Mariner by The Admiral Amante and crew left the urban sprawl of Jacksonville juxtaposed against the antebellum splendor of old Ortega on Tuesday the fourth, in the lover’s month of February. A solid weather forecast of a mild northerly 10 to 15 knots would make for lovely downwind sailing to Ft Pierce. This fantasy was not in Neptune’s forecast. We were doomed for a major spanking with squalls and gusts to 40 plus knots. We blissfully slept over behind Blount Island with visions of a giddy boost from a following sea. February 5th we did the usual anchor dance and slipped through the St. Johns River headed out to sea with a gleam of sunlight in the East. Mild enough, we celebrated the beautiful but cold day by rigging the downwind pole for wing on wing. Wanting to speed up our over burdened girl, we fired up the iron genoa. At 1800 RPM she started to complain. Overheating. The buzzer rang annoyingly shrill like an old crone unable to keep up with her younger charges. Engine off, we sailed at a miserable 4.5 knots. But hey, no worries, we’re headed south! By 7:30 pm we were hit with fluky wind on the starboard side with gusts to 30 knots. By 12:30 a.m. the roller coaster ride was no longer fun. Rain was biblical as well as the sky, which appeared as one giant black hole. The poem Invictus was a feeble light as this crewmember stumbled to the cockpit… Out of the night that covers me, In the fell clutch of circumstance As the captain tried valiantly to control the boat in a big following sea, I could hear the long loud groan of an amputated auto pilot screaming and grinding from a major mechanical shutdown. We lost our steering! The whole life of Amante shuddered as the sails began to flog violently. We were sideways to the wind and all of Dante’s minions were summoned. The Captain troubleshot the steering with hydraulic oil but it was squandered on the carpet. Where is the leak? It had to be something simple. In the past 12 years our dear and faithful mistress of the Sea has not failed us. She has been lovingly cared for mechanically but boats will be boats and our challenge was to find the source of this untimely occurrence. Outside the howling wind caught our attention so we scrambled to secure the unhappy sails. Without being able to see our fingernails in front of us John crawled out on deck to bring in the jib. We were still broadside to the large following sea which we couldn’t envision and I was thrown across the cockpit. With a wallop to my left shin I remained standing but could not see my heroic Captain on deck. With all the thunder, lightning and wind, the cacophony of nature did not diminish our desire to speedily get the ship under control. No time for cowards. In the utter blackness we realized we were grateful not to be 300 miles off shore but merely a mewling ten. With a VHF in the cockpit I attempted to hail Towboat U.S. We didn’t get them (it was 2AM) but did reach the Coast Guard. The Coasties called Towboat for us since our cellphone mutinied and they were not answering their VHF. We cannot sing enough praises for this team of diligent professional mariners who called Amante every half hour for an update on her condition even though we never asked for assistance. Not only that, they sent a boat to make sure Towboat was able to reach us. The captain tried rigging the emergency tiller but discovered the tiller bar was too long. Not only that but the rudder appeared jammed. After detaching the hydraulic ram from the rudder, movement became possible, but the only leverage available was a 24” adjustable wrench, not enough to steer a 24 ton boat in 9’ seas. While limping towards the Cape, we humbly thanked God that we were not the Piper single engine plane that had gone down near St. Lucie inlet just a few hours prior to our own misadventures. We had heard the call on our ever-present and open Channel 16. All in all it was 6 hours before Towboat U.S. reached Amante from the Cape Canaveral inlet. Our rescuers were like manna from Heaven. We could see the Coast Guard’s red and green about half a mile from our port quarter. When Amante was fully engaged with the towboat, the diligent young sailors of the Coast Guard took their leave. By 9 a.m. we were safely ensconced in Cape Marina.
We had been up all night and now the Coast Guard wanted to make a “safety
check”. Eight of them cheerily asked questions and checked our safety
equipment. The squad of our coasts’ protectors was amiable and pleasant but
thorough. After passing safety regs we fell into a sweet slumber dreaming of
the creamy white sands of the Ragged Islands and the warm indolent weather of
the Tropics. An autopsy of the steering was surprising. The autopilot pump, an $800 piston pump made by Octopus, had literally fallen apart. It has a whopping 2 machine screws holding it together. Once the pump detached itself from the motor it suffered a catastrophic loss of hydraulic oil. Ironically, all the pieces were lying around so the captain merely reassembled it and it ran just fine! If we had been far offshore we might have figured this out, but we were only a few miles off Cape Canaveral and drifting toward shore, so maintaining control was more vital than matching wits with a hydraulic system. We left Cape Canaveral three days later headed for Ft. Pierce in a philosophical mood. A quote from a philosopher of my youth, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin: “Someday, after mastering the winds, the waves, the tides and gravity, we shall harness for God the energies of love, and then, for a second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire.” We headed south to the Abacos which were fraught with cold fronts blowing off the East coast of the Atlantic seaboard. We managed to ride out the southwesterly components in muddy Marsh Harbour while catching up on a historical tome or two. Since Chris Parker our weather icon
suggested that there would be a hammering of fronts weekly, we decided to hoof it to the Exumas pronto. Our first taste of the Exumas beheld a dead calm anchorage with several Bristolian
(read:expensive) motor yachts. Highbourne Cay is a gorgeous favorite of many yachties and its capacious bay can hold many boats including 200 footers. The only down side is the gargantuan motor yachts breeezing by your bow while towing a Boston Whaler inches from your bowsprit.
March 8th brought a fine brisk north westerly and we watched at least 60 yachts head out the southern entrance for the Long Island Regatta.
After riding out another north west front in Georgetown and getting our fill of provisioning and Regatta Mania, we headed for Long Island to overnight prior to traversing the Comer Channel. Here we find a respite at Double Breasted Cay; Home to annoying sand flies and what appears to be an atheist's wet dream. A satanic coven of voodoo and hoodoo.
Here we have the leeward side of Hog Cay, rich with an interesting display of beach memorabilia tossed about by the easterly winds. (not the senior pictured here).
Another bucolic sunset as we wile away the endless days of summer. (yes, I have my Wayfarers on) We were blessed to have the anchorage to ourselves for a few weeks, though we missed the camaraderie of fellow seafaring wanderers. The parade of snowbirds to Hog Cay at finally started their flight back North. A few stragglers remained at various anchorages delighting in their solitude. We are so fortunate .
What's this? Unfortunately, events like what we see here happen very frequently in the Ragged Islands. These poor souls are waiting to be processed to return to Haiti. Let's explain. Haiti is approximately 150 miles south of the Bahamas. Few people are so desperate as to steal a small craft and risk their lives to seek refuge in a more wealthy country. Haiti . Destitute, heart breaking and pestiferous. Over populated, crime ridden and corrupt. Sounds like Detroit, I suppose.
One hundred and thirty two people were crammed into a small wooden boat barely 40 feet in length. We were told by the police that they paid $500 apiece to make this harrowing passage, i.e. over $65K for the boatload, in a stolen boat to boot. Of the 139 asylum seekers , three were children. As you can envision, these folks could have drowned. The police chief said, many do.
After witnessing such desperation and quashed dreams of a more fortunate life, we retreated to our lair at Hog Cay. Counting our blessings we prayed these Haitians could have some solace that they departed the Bahamas with their lives, instead of facing a watery demise at sea.
We made use of a pile of floats we found on the windward side and dragged it 'home' to enjoy as a pool toy.
John captured Amante riding at anchor on a peaceful evening. 2013
Believe it or not, this was the coldest weather we ever experienced in the Bahamas! We wore fleece until April. This was just prior to our sojourn down to the Jumentos.
The jewel of the Bahamas are undoubtedly the Jumentos. Lying South west of Long Island and the Mecca of Georgetown in the Exumas, the Jumentos offer a solitude and peace that even the most jaded and crusty sailor cannot pass by. Long off the beaten path for those trudging the usual circuit from The Abacos to the Exumas and outer islands, the Jumentos offers pristine uninhabited cays except for the stray goat or flamingo. Reached through the Comer channel which is ten miles southwest of Long Island one must play the tides. With a minimum dept of 5 feet at low tide, the prudent adventurer coordinates the tides of Nassau with the channel. Amante has been our home for the past ten years and this well seasoned Out Island 51 footer has a six foot draught which sometimes can be a liability when cruising these shallower banks. We coordinated high tide at Nassau which was at 1338 and planned to transit with a rising tide. Leaving Thompson Bay at 1140 it was a good 10 miles to the eastern most waypoint of Comer. At 1300 we entered the 'funnel' and 9 feet was the skinniest water until all ten miles hailed our exit on the western waypoint. .No more nail biting and imagined groundings with nothing but endless reefs in sight. We headed in a northerly direction to seek shelter from the easterlies behind Little Exuma. Overnighting in 12 feet of turquoise we settled in with a rum and coke and a 'cuda' on the grill. Tomorrow, Water Cay, 25 miles to the southwest.
Wednesday morning brought high cumulus with 15 knots of sailing down wind. Perfect. This well seasoned 77 Morgan likes it that way. Barreling along at 6 and a half knots we weren’t exactly outperforming any J boats but we were gleeful not to use the iron horse and burn diesel. By 1500 we were comfortably anchored at Water Cay about one mile from a commercial fishing boat! The quiet and alone theory bubble burst. Not to worry, we were almost feeling the urge to tuck in near them after recently kissing goodbye to 350 boats choking Georgetown Harbor. Quickly jettisoning that idea we happily tossed the hook in a nearby cove and planned our next hop to Flamingo Cay. Why the rush? Our main challenge was to seek protection from a mild 'front’ that was sweeping into the Bahamas over the weekend. Never mind those morning to evening snorkeling fetes or casual sunburned beachcombing. Northers from the eastern U.S. seaboard were still bombarding these well churned waters far into April and we needed to be not caught with our pants down. The Jumentos have very few hidey holes that offer all round protection from a nasty blow. Scuba diving and most aqua activities would have to wait for a more settled barometer. An early April Morning heralds a new forecast. Leaden sky’s cast a even more ominous sheen to the reefs protecting our cozy anchorage. Time to move on and check out our Explorer charts and Southern Bahama’s Cruising Guide. Its not always a race from anchorage to anchorage but it is here with the coming 'weather'. The Jumentos provide little coverage from the West You can almost see to Cuba because there is nothing else in sight! The winds usually clock from east to southeast to southwest to west prior to the coming blow. Flamingo Cay lay to the South and its northern bight offered protection from the west and a bonus of a spectacularly blinding white beach. As we played the inside banks the sun rose high giving plenty of excellent visibility to navigate any pesky coral heads. A beam reach and 7 knots was as good as it gets. Two hours later we were anchored. Seemed Good. Great holding. But uh oh….It started to get rolly. In other words, we were miserable. Rolling scupper to scupper. Almost felt seasick. We thought, well, this is all right, we can handle a little discomfort. One hour later, we picked up the CQR and it was heave ho. Plan B was to head for Buena Vista. 28 miles further south. A gorgeous cay with several coves and bays, it afforded protection from the east and sometimes north to southeast. Since the Jumentos are low lying and scraggily we were pleased to read that Buena Vista had some actual trees called buttonwoods. The first four hours were a lovely ride but the wind started to turn more southerly and we changed course to chase the lee of Buena Vista. Close hauled we turned on the engine and finally furled our large workhorse, the jib As we motored past Buena Vista we decided to forge on.. Amante and crew found respite in pure white sand with excellent holding protected by Pimlico Cay to the south and Raccoon Cay to the east. Since it was 5 p.m. we declined a swim in the crystalline waters and wearily tidied up the deck and stowed the main. Remember no swimming after five because of the requiem predators, i.e. sharks. Instead of being dinner we opted for finishing off the rest of our catch. Grouper with olive oil and lemon for dinner. We watched a yacht slip by on her way to Double Breasted Cay. A good choice for shallower draft yachts. Where to tomorrow? Johnson Cay just a few easy miles south and then north. Johnson would give us excellent shelter for prefrontal winds which were forecast to be southeast to southwest.
A lovely starfish in gin clear water. The chatter on the VHF was for Big Pigeon Cay where most boats that drew five feet or less could ride out the squalls which were predicted by our weather guru Chris Parker. We hoped Johnson was a good choice and that the wind gods would not bring northerlies until Morning Light. As the forecast was predicted, it would be somewhere around 8 in the morning. We prayed nothing would bite us at midnight or 3 a.m There was no moon and a night as pitch as a black hole. Also, This particular cay was no place to be when the front slammed. We use a variety of forecasts including passage weather, wind finder and grib files. We also use NOAA and Weather Underground if we have Internet. Here in the Jumentos, we were not that lucky to stay connected. We traded the opium of the Net for these deserted pristine cays. Our side band radio was tuned for 4045 and everyday we tuned into Chris, a dedicated meteorologist who unfailingly and aptly guided the yachts to far flung corners of the Caribbean and U.S. mainland. With ears attune at the grisly hour of 630 a.m. boaters with coffee in hand avidly digested the weather report. Weather. It dominates a mariner's life. By Friday strong winds from the south and barely west were a sign that Amante needed more shelter. Johnson Cay it was. Only about three miles as the crow flies our savior for this prefrontal blast leaned south then north of Racoon Cay. We didn’t even bother to hike the main or furl out the jib too eager were we for a quiet berth. The beauty of Johnson cay lay before-us with a perfect horse shoe shaped cove and beckoning sugary beach. The afternoon floated by easily with a light southeasterly. Sunset descended quietly. The wind quickened and suddenly the bow swung west. Here it comes. A howling squall.. The sky was now completely black without a glimmer of a moon. Lightening exploded all around and we were completely vulnerable being the only mast in the bay. 25 to 35 knots of gusts hammered Amante. We were braced for 40 but Zeus was kind and the rain preceded the wind. A good rinse off for this old girl and a short lived electrical display. The evening remained a funereal calm after the prefrontal winds. Another morning as the pale weak sun rose above the horizon. Crew and boat watched warily for a hint of a north easterly. By 9 a.m. another squall blew past and it was time to depart for an anchorage with north-to-north west and n. e. protection. Pigeon Cay it was. After sending out a call on VHF 16 we asked a fellow cruiser how many yachts were there and if there was room for one more traveler with a deep draft. Considering the pilot charts and cruising guides we headed out. Double breasted Cay and Big Pigeon were just south of us about two miles. With an extra 4 feet under our keel at anchor and excellent holding we called it a day. What’s not to like? Those other boats with a shallower draft could tuck up closer to doubled breasted but we were happy to find respite.. Sunday brought a stinging 20 knot easterly and an ocean surge through the anchorage. We rolled like a metronome. Time to move on to Hog Cay. We felt like Columbus approaching land although we were only greeted by goats. A great swath of calm bay with miles of virgin beach and plenty of swinging room for Lord Nelson’s fleet. Heaven. We are ‘stuck’ here for at least a week. Hurrah!!!
Hog Cay Yacht Club. Benefits with picnic tables and open grill.
Hog Cay is a fabulous place to get away from the maddening crowd. There are several hiking trails which lead across the island to the windward side. Here you can see the low scrub but this particular cay actually had some limestone cliffs and is rather high in comparison to its sister islands.
A view of the windward lagoon.
We were lucky as we bushwhacked our way across this arid bit of paradise. Cactus in bloom.
Copyright © John & Vera Williams 2000-2013 All Rights Reserved
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