All at Sea, Part 1

Position: 26°32’48.1″N 77°04’05.3″W

With our newfound confidence in estimating the unpredictability of the weather and subtropical depression Alberto wreaking havoc in Florida, we decided that we better pad our schedule back to the United States by a few days. Tom, aka The Commodore, joined us in Marsh Harbour. After a couple of days, he was thoroughly shaken down. Or at least shaken and ready for anything.

Alberto began as a little jumble of low pressure off the coast of Yucatán during the last week in May. From there he deepened into a seriously big mess. The outer islands of the Abacos sat smugly on the far eastern edges of the storm. Sitting in the cockpit with a Dark & Stormy each we watched the ragged edges of the tempest fly past in its counterclockwise rage. The things that Carol can do with a few limes, some ice, ginger beer and rum are legion. Chief among them is efficiently and deliciously ensuring that the crew gets their grog and their anti-scurvy medication in one, long, shot.

Tom

Tom began life as a jumble of cells somewhere in the upper left hand side of North America, but that was longer ago than this blog has time for. We were excited to have Tom join us. As a volunteer and redoubtable sailor, we looked forward to sharing the best parts of our cruising experiences, while also taking advantage of his largesse and third-handedness for the big crossing back to the States.

Our original plan, pre-Alberto, was to hitch a lift on the Gulf Stream as far north as we could and then take the dominant southwesterlies on into Marion, Massachusetts. Pilot charts are wonderful things for showing average weather patterns. Thereby encourage this kind of daydreaming. NOAA’s real-time forecasting, on the other hand, makes for a sharper reality. Quite where and when Alberto would make landfall, or more important in our case, when and where his remnants would exit the continental United States, was a keen topic of conversation at the start of the week. Forecasts changed hourly and anything more than 24 hours out was laughably inchoate.

Chris

Chris Parker is a weather router. He provides bespoke forecasting services to cruisers all over the world, generously broadcasting his synopses for all to hear. Chris’s updates became a vital point of validation in our final decision on when to leave and which way we were going to get there. By the time Wednesday rolled around, it looked like our best bet was to head to the Gulf Stream and thumb a ride at least as far as Beaufort, North Carolina. There we would decide if we could continue on or if we should stop and wait for the next weather window.

We had spent a couple of productive days exploring the Abacos, including a very enjoyable two-night stopover at Mangoes Marina in Marsh Harbour. Well protected from all sides, the harbor was crammed with sailboats sheltering from Alberto’s excesses. Marsh Harbour is also shallow. Shallow to the point where a good-looking 36’ Bavaria approached our dock at low tide and promptly stuck herself in the mud, floating free a few hours later. Being the main town for the Abacos means that Marsh Harbour is well supplied, and the shops were loaded with grocery items we hadn’t seen in over a month.

Nippers

Great Guana Cay, our next stop, is a happening place that’s been run for the past couple of hundred years by two, perhaps three, families. There we picked up a mooring ball and all piled into Nell so that we could get off and explore the island. The one street going through town led us to Nippers pub on the ocean side and back to Grabbers restaurant and bar on the bay side, with a stop in between. The view from the deck at Nippers was spectacular. A white sand beach stretched luxuriously in both directions. The beach is buffered from the ocean by large coral heads that are part of the third largest reef in the world. The water shifts from green to blue to sapphire and breakers a half mile off the shore give a good indication of the risk and opportunity for boats and divers respectively.

Green Turtle Cay lies north of Great Guana across a phalanx of dangerous, shifting sands that forced us out to the ocean and around Whale Cay. Having decided to leave a little early, we fueled up and bought last minute provisions in preparation. One of the more interesting distractions on Green Turtle Cay is a tidy little memorial park dedicated to loyalists from the American Revolution. My early education in the United States conveniently overlooked that, yes, there were colonists loyal to the King. Quite what happened to them once the war ended wasn’t made clear. The answer isn’t surprising: surviving loyalists either got with the revolutionary program or were persecuted, many to the point of departing the independent United States for the royalist Bahamas.

Carol

Thursday arrived sunny and calmer than predicted, so we hoisted the iron genoa (turned on the motor) and began our first four-day non-stop cruise. Carol had asked both Tom and me what our greatest concern was. “Getting over-tired,” we replied in turn. Meanwhile, pesky details like watches, how long and in what order, were yet to be fully worked out. By the last night we’d settled on three hour shifts in strict rotation as the most humane way of dealing with watches. Between three people that means at least one of you is getting a full six hour stretch in their bunk. We’d also figured out that sleeping anytime you feel tired during the day is a whole lot easier than trying to fight it.

Our reward was nights lit by a waning moon across silkily dark seas, indented by beautiful red sunsets and deep orange moonrises. With the engine on, the best place to be was in the cockpit communing with the stars. By the time we met the Gulf Stream near Cape Canaveral shipping traffic bound for the Bahamas was almost non-existent, in fact seeing another boat of any kind was a surprise. Occasionally a ship would pop up on the chart plotter via the Automatic Identification System. But, because of Aleta’s low freeboard putting us close to the water, any vessel more than a dozen miles away was difficult if not impossible to see, even with binoculars. SpaceX had scheduled a rocket launch on our first night at sea, but heavy clouds obscured our view and we weren’t sure if it went up or not.

Alberto

Thanks to the invisible hand of nature (in the form of a four-knot push from the Gulf Stream) our speed picked up to 11 and even 12 knots at times. We missed it sorely when we reached the border of South and North Carolina where the Cape Fear River seems to scumble the current into wooly eddies. By that time Alberto had split into several parts, including a series of squalls headed back south towards us.

From our vantage point we could see thunderstorms and showers reaching the shoreline and mostly grind to a halt. Lightning flashed across the sky, from cloud to cloud in a silent show. Brilliant flares of sepia-gold, and blue-white lit up the interiors of the fluffy grey thunderheads, just far enough away to be entertaining. As late afternoon on the third day turned to evening, I spotted a line of weather that had broken free of the land and looked like it might cause a bit of trouble if it headed our way. It headed our way.

One of the primary rules of sailing is ‘reef early, reef often.’ We turned into the wind and tucked a reef into the main and shortened the jib while we were at it. Carol and I have learned that Aleta is very comfortable in 25 knot winds and four-foot seas with a single reef in the main while adjusting the jib as conditions dictate.

More Knots

As the wind picked up, the waves weren’t far behind, building to five feet with a second train crossing the Gulf Stream’s primary one at right angles. Aleta’s stern was pushed along while her beam was slapped with an occasional surly misfit that, at the height of the squall, broke, covering us in spray. Peaking at a full 35 knots, the squall passed behind us in less than an hour. The thunderstorms continued their show well out to sea. Aleta never felt uneasy or overpowered. Eventually, the wind dropped to a more comfortable 25 knots and things settled down for the evening.

Sunday’s forecast was for more thunderstorms and squally action as a cold front moved across the area from the north. Putting into Beaufort seemed the best course of action. Besides, stopping meant we’d clear customs, take showers, and enjoy all the benefits of docking at this funky town’s waterfront. So that’s what we did.

To be continued…

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