A rainbow follows a brief shower at Tilloo Cay

Don't worry about a thing,
Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singing, don't worry about a thing,
Cause every little thing gonna be all right.

Bob Marley


Living large in the Abacos

From the Captain

2/23/14  Tilloo Cay to Marsh Harbour,

Yesterday started with the morning rituals: listening to the cruisers' net; checking in with our companions on VHF channel 8; bathing in the ocean; rinsing off the salt in Luna's shower, eating breakfast. A muffin for the commander. Granola for the captain. Both made in the oven on board.

We've been doing our best to keep the salt out of the cabin, but I think we're fighting a losing battle. Little by little, it has crept in, and where it lies, which is about everywhere, it holds water and creates a damp feeling. We're starting to feel it when we sit on the cushions, and it gets in the sheets. Time to do a laundry and figure out how to clean the upholstery. But in the meantime, we're looking forward to the songwriters' festival.

We take Luna over to Lubbers' Landing, the beach bar and resort on the next island north. It's only about a half-mile from us, but we're trying to spare ourselves the dinghy ride there and back. There is a south wind that is kicking up a light chop. It's worth it to move the big boat in order to stay dry. And, sitting on the deck at the Landing, it's nice to see Luna at anchor in the background.

The workshop turns out to be about a half-dozen young musicians and songwriters from Nashville.

Bruce: "Would you call this folk or country music?" Captain: "They're singing about girls, drinking, cars, and an occasional reference to Jesus. It's country."

These were musicians of some renown. Jesse Rice wrote the number one country song in 2013, a tune comparing his girl to a song that makes him want to roll down his truck windows and cruise. Everyone else in the bar, it seems, sang along. Clearly we don't follow country music.

Django Walker, left, and friends sing at Lubbers Landing

Django Walker was another performer. We are familiar with his father, Jerry Jeff. Someone asked him to do Mr. Bojangles. "I don't know that one," he said with a bit of a twinkle. We were sitting right next to the performers, and I said he must hear that request a lot. "More than you can imagine," he responded.

The concert was punctuated by an announcement of the victory of the Canadian men's hockey team over the Americans in the Olympic semifinal match. This news was greeted with great enthusiasm by many of the patrons, including our table mates.

Sitting on the deck at a bar, having lunch and a beer, listening to the concert, looking out over the water, enjoying the sunshine and the shade, one can start to feel a decadence of sorts. This would take some getting used to. But not much.

Listening to the song writers' concert

 This morning we set our sights on Marsh Harbour. Brian has called around to the marinas there and found the best one. This is Mangoes, a small facility that will take us for seventy cents a foot plus five dollars a day for water. There is a laundromat and pool. Internet on the dock. There are showers. We're in!

In the meantime, the cruiser's net is active. Snappas, a restaurant near the marina, is hosting Bocce Ball Sunday. Anyone can play. If you come alone, they will find you a partner. They note that bocce ball is being considered for an Olympic sport. This is good news--along with curling, they need another sport for athletes in the latter part of their third decade and beyond.

Bocce Ball, Bahamian style

Winch cleaning, in progress

Unfortunately for us, we'll arrive too late to sign up for bocce at Snappas. We're leaving at 11 am to take advantage of the 1 pm high tide. In the meantime, I spent the morning taking apart the mainsheet winch, cleaning the gears and regreasing them. Here could be another Olympic sport, if they're looking for one, though perhaps not as exciting to watch as curling. I would have finished dead last in the competition, but the winch sure sounds and works better. There are seven others to tackle.

From cruisers in the area, the VHF crackles with updates of the Canada vs. Sweden hockey match for the gold medal. Finally someone announces the 3-0 final score. Canada has the gold.

The south wind carried us north to Marsh Harbour. Again, to avoid shallow areas, we sailed a twisted course, but we could maintain 4.5 to 5 knots under sail alone, and arrived at the marina by 1:30 pm.

We last had a proper shower in Black Point on 2/6. The shower here was only lukewarm, but imagine how nice it felt to stand there and let the water pour over us! We have become masters of water conservation. We can shower on Luna in a quart of water. Cleaning up in the kitchen, we save the rinse water and reheat it to wash the next meal's dishes.

Luna at Mangoes
Marina

The commander did a load of laundry. We have a working internet connection right from the boat. Most of Marsh Harbour is closed on Sunday, but Curly Tails, the bar next door, is open. Six of us gather for a late lunch.

At sundown, cruisers from the other boats gather on the dock to perform the Bahamian ritual of sending off the sun to the sound of a conch shell, blown like a trumpet. Curiously, we have never seen an actual Bahamian do this. There are four conch-blowers among the cruisers. Each shell is a different size and tone. The sound vibrates horribly from the competing notes all out of tune. Silently, the sun surrenders and hurries away.

We talk with some of our neighbors. Most, it seems, keep their boats down here, living on the dock in the winter, storing the boats in the summer. The demographic is older retired. I can see the attraction. Showers, laundry, stores in town, convenient internet connection, dock parties, restaurants, nearby bars, good weather, sites to cruise if the spirit moves you.

I'm thinking how this wouldn't be a bad way to spend our time. And then the email comes. Krista, whom we left in Little Farmers Cay, sent a photo she took when she and Phil were with the group in Warderick Wells. It is a long shot. Brian is standing at the edge of a cliff, taking a photo. The water, displaying all the shades of blue, stretches to the horizon. The sky, dark and somewhat menacing, brings out the color of the sea. There is nothing else in the photo.




So which is it? The civilized side of the Bahamas, somewhat decadent, constantly on vacation? Or the rugged side with the heart-achingly beautiful vistas that delight the eyes and stir the soul? As with visiting the American southwest: Do you sleep out in the desert among the hoodoo rocks with the "billion stars all around?" Or do you check out the scenery from your car and head into town to stay at the posh Holiday Inn?

Think it over. Let me know. In the meantime, I'm heading over to the bar for a rum punch. Discuss amongst yourselves.

2/23/14-2/28/14 Marsh Harbour

This is vacation week on Luna. Rest week. We're at the dock. No pressure to move, to raise and lower the anchor. To secure the cabin, or monitor the level of fuel in the diesel tank. No concerns about water, the batteries, or the holding tank. We'd probably be bored stiff if it weren't for so much to do in Marsh Harbour.

Our visit starts with a thorough cleaning of the boat. There is water at the dock, so we attach our hose and wash the salt off Luna. We wash and rinse the rugs in the cabin and the cushions in the cockpit.  I wash the floor. I get some upholstery cleaner and clean and vacuum the cushions from the cabin. The commander does multiple loads of laundry. We've made a big dent in the level of salt in the cabin, and this feels much better.

Marsh Harbour is a fairly large town. Within walking distance of the marina are a large supermarket, a barber shop, and two large hardware stores, three if you count the NAPA auto parts store that also sells some hardware items. There is a shop that sells fresh fish right down the road. There are bakeries and several banks. There are gift and clothing stores. There's even a Kentucky Fried Chicken down the road toward the airport.

There's even a traffic light at the corner of Queen Elizabeth Drive and Don McKay Blvd. There are lots of cars. No golf carts. Very few side walks, no shoulders. It is not a pedestrian-friendly town

But you can get just about anything you need here. Except, I discover, a one-inch hose barb. Occasionally, we are getting an odor from Luna's holding tank, and I think the fitting at the discharge port is loose. I want to replace it. But it will not be done here. None of the hardware stores carry that size.

I walked up and got a haircut from the barber. We shopped at the supermarket and bought some fresh trigger fish filets from the fish vendor. I bought some freshly baked banana bread and a jar of hot pepper jelly at the bakery, which is next to the barber.

Ray, left, dock master at Mangoes, always friendly and helpful

I asked Ray, the knowledgeable and very helpful dock master at Mangoes, to recommend a mechanic. I would like to change Luna's fuel filter and set the valve clearances for the trip back. I'm not sure when these routine maintenance items were done last. Ray recommended a place right across the street, and I talked with Brian Symonette, the owner. He deals with solar installations, generators, starters, and, apparently, is a good diesel mechanic.

Brian and his assistant, Steve, came aboard and did the filter and the valves. He showed me how I could do this myself. Steve noticed the alternator belt was getting worn, and replaced and adjusted this as well. As with the VHF radio, I was very pleased with the quality and thoroughness of the work done here in the Bahamas. And the cost was reasonable.

Our group of six spreads the happy hour wealth. One day we are at Mangoes. The next day, we go next door to Snappas and have some drinks. It is pizza night there, and we get some pizzas for dinner. I decide that in the future here, I'll stick to the seafood.

Last night, staff from the tourist bureau threw a party at the marina. Open to all, the gathering featured music, dancing, beer, trivia games and prizes, and Bahamian food, including cracked conch, conch fritters, barbecue ribs, macaroni and cheese, chicken wings, and slices of fresh fruit with peach pound cake.

The first trivia question was, "Name five ways to cook conch." We've had them at least six ways: cracked (breaded and deep fried) conch, conch fritters, conch chowder, conch burgers, and, in Bimini, conch salad and conch stew. One of our Toronto friends won the prize.

Ladies from the tourist bureau welcome us to the party

The director of the bureau made a welcoming speech about how much they appreciate the part-time residents and cruisers. "Of all the places in the world, you have picked Abaco, and we are honored," she said.

This is definitely not Casablanca, where Bogey, as Rick, grouses to Sam, "In all the gin joints in all the countries in all the world, she has to walk into mine."  And it's not Vermont, where we call the tourists "flatlanders."

I am thinking, "My God, these people are thanking us?" What a wonderful, warm, hospitable place they have. I realize their economy depends heavily on tourism, and they take this very seriously. But what a kind way to promote hospitality and good feelings. I would certainly come back here. Of course, that's assuming we can tear ourselves away in the first place.

There are dance contests, a limbo contest, and a fashion show from Mangoes' boutique. The evening ends with a lively demonstration by a local Junkanoo group. I love how Junkanoo, a tradition going back to slave times when participants wore elaborate masks so their masters couldn't identify them, has become a centerpiece of the cultural interface between the Bahamians and their white visitors.

And I love Junkanoo. Delighted by the dancers, awed by the elaborate costumes, energized by the drummers, we can't keep still. At the end of the two-hour party, having had too many Kaliks, lots of Bahamian appetizers, and dancing nearly to exhaustion, I barely had room for the grilled fresh triggerfish still to come on Luna. But we managed.

Another cold front is approaching today, and there are going to be high winds and rain for the next two days. We have been aware of this front in the weather forecast, and that is one reason we are staying at the marina. It looks like we will leave here on Saturday, 3/1, for Hope Town, then north up the Abaco chain.

Junkanoo dancers

Up to the Abacos

From the Captain

2/16/14 Hatchet Bay, Eleuthera, to Spanish Wells. 27.3 nm

Current Cut lies about 16 miles northwest of Hatchet Bay. This narrow channel between rocky islands provides the exit point from Eleuthera to the northern Bahamas. As the tide reaches its peak, currents here can reach 9 knots, and waves can be quite steep. We have timed our departure so that we can reach the cut at slack tide, when the current is least.

Working backward, we know from the guidebooks and the locals that tides in Current Cut lag behind Nassau by one and half hours. High tide in Nassau today is 8:40 am. High tide at the cut will be around 10:15. At six knots, we figure it will take nearly 3 hours to reach the cut. We give ourselves some leeway by leaving at 7am.

We reach Current Cut at 10:18. There is no current and no significant waves. Transiting the cut is easy. We will have to look elsewhere for excitement this day. No problem.

There is no railroad in the Bahamas. Most everything moves by boat among these small islands. Yet, when we sail through Current Cut, I have the feeling we have crossed from the other side of the tracks. The feeling comes into sharper focus as we tie up to our mooring in the harbor of Spanish Wells.

After our time in the outer islands of the Exumas and Eleuthera, Spanish Wells seems like a prosperous little island. Sitting right off the northern tip of Eleuthera, it is the center of the Bahamian lobster industry. If you have a lobster tail at Red Lobster, and I'm not sure why you would, it likely comes through Spanish Wells. In the early European history of this country, this was an important port. Back when Spanish galleons sailed this way, they would stop here to refill their water casks.

On this side of the tracks, there is no funk. The fishing boats in the harbor are freshly painted and in good condition. No derelict boats or rusted tubs in this harbor. Buildings along the harbor are in good repair. The all ages school and pink government clinic building are well maintained.

For sale in Spanish Wells

 

We walked around the town. As far as we walked, we saw neat small bungalows with garages. They are painted in all the Bahamian colors--yellow, white, turquoise, pink, violet, pastel blue and green. No two adjacent houses are the same color. Most of the single story houses  wouldn't seem out of place in the older, less fancy, parts of Florida. A lot of houses have FOR SALE signs.

There is a huge supermarket at one end of town. A row of compressors behind, sitting in line like black birds on a telephone wire, indicates a serious amount of modern refrigeration and air conditioning here. In common with other islands in the Bahamas, everything is closed. It is Sunday.

There are few people out. A guy brakes his golf cart to a halt next to us. He hands us a card to his liquor store and snack bar. He is closed today, but will open the liquor store for us if we need anything. We don't, but appreciate the gesture. Some people driving by wave. Others don't. Nearly every face is white.

A couple black Bahamians walk past. We say, "Hi." They return the greeting quietly, eyes down. On this side of the tracks, so far, there is not the open and welcoming friendliness of the other side. We'll see how this initial impression plays out tomorrow.

Dinghy dock, Spanish Wells harbor

2/17/14 Spanish Wells.

Monday. The town came alive today. The island is two miles long and a half-mile wide, and people and cars travel along the two main streets. One street is along the waterfront. The other, a few blocks over, goes past the supermarket, the bank, stores and take aways (restaurants), and the island's radio station, Splash FM. 89.9. Here, the owner, Chris Forsythe, also fixes electronics. Today, he became our new best buddy.

I found Chris' name in our cruising guide. I had been looking for someone to take a look at our VHF radio. I called him from Rock Sound and told him our radio didn't seem to reach more than a few miles.

"How long has this been going on," he asked.

I really don't know. On Lake Champlain, we rarely use the radio, and when we do, it's not to call very far. Coming down the ICW, we called drawbridges, but used the hand-held radio. I didn't suspect anything was wrong until we were crossing the Atlantic to Bimini and couldn't hear some of the leading boats in our group.

It has been a problem for us since. In the Bahamas, we have not been able to get weather forecasts or hear the cruisers net.

"It's very dangerous to go across the ocean without good communication," Chris noted on the phone.

"Can you help us?" I asked

"That's what I do," he said. "Call when you get here."

I called this morning. Within 20 minutes, as soon as he could finish his breakfast, Chris was standing across the harbor at the gas dock. I picked him up in the dinghy. He was carrying a meter and a portable antenna with him.

He used the meter to determine that the radio works quite well. "It's a very good radio," he noted. The antenna segment from the radio to the mast is OK. The old antenna I replaced is fine. The segment of wire that goes up through the mast is reflecting energy back into the radio and needs to be replaced. His recommendation: buy an 8-foot whip antenna and attach it to the rail at the back of the boat. Interestingly, our friend, Steve, on Farmers Cay, told us the same thing.

We drove in his van a few blocks along the harbor to the marine supply and bought an antenna. He took me to his shop at the station where he soldered a connection onto the lead in wire. He sold me a mounting bracket for the rail. He was thorough and quite reasonable.

At the station, I met his wife, Jane, who is a native of Hope Town in the Abacos. She lived in Nassau, where Chris is from. I ask who lives on  Spanish Wells now. "Do a lot of the houses belong to foreigners?" "No, most are Bahamian." I wonder why there seems to be so many for sale. The economy, Chris notes, is not doing was well as it used to. Interest rates are high. Some houses are in

Walking down a street in Spanish Wells

foreclosure.

There are some large houses facing the ocean and the harbor, but in between, the houses are quite modest. Where there are names, the houses reveal families such as Sands, Albury, and Pinder.

I found the Forsythes and others we met very open and friendly. I love the small houses painted with the island colors. One side of the tracks or the other, we're still in the Bahamas, and it still feels good. I was glad to find this out.

After getting the radio back together. the commander and I dinghied in to the dock and walked around the island. We walked two miles up to the western end past the supermarket to the public beach and park. Then back along the waterfront. Cars and golf carts passed us. There seem to be about three golf carts for each car. This makes sense to me. Several golf carts full of tourists passed us as we walked up the island. They passed us again on our way back, waving as they drove by.

We stopped at the market to pick up a few things. I asked the cashier when boat day is. "Wennes Day," she replied. "But we don't get things put out until Thursday."

If you look closely at the people you can see traces of various races, and if you listen closely, you can hear echoes of different accents. I'm sure there is some English spoken that goes back to the Loyalist settlers. Perhaps the three-syllable pronunciation of Wednesday is an example of this. Chris spoke with more of a Caribbean accent, though much easier to understand than that spoken on Eleuthera or Exuma.

After shopping, we took our liquor store friend's invitation and stopped at what seemed like his house to buy a box of red wine. Hence, we met Buddha and his friendly wife. They operate a snack bar out of an old school bus on the same lot as the liquor store. At the picnic tables between store and bus were the tourists who had passed us. Someone congratulated us on our long walk.

Lunch at Buddhas

While waiting for lunch, I went into the store and bought a beer. For some reason, I thought I would try the other Bahamian beer: Sands. While we were sitting, a man came up to us, saying, "I'm glad to see you're drinking a Sands." His Massachusetts accent was clear.

An ex-pat from Cape Cod, Jack has worked arranging events for companies. There is a gray-haired man sitting with his back to us among the group of tourists. He is Mr. Sands, the brewer, and the others are his guests. He has a house at the end of Gun Point, on the island just north of us. Jack, the tour guide, gets me another Sands beer. Later, I see Mr. Sands and thank him for his beer. He is an elderly gentleman with a deep voice and a Bahamian accent. Avuncular in appearance, he could be Col. Sanders without the facial hair. "You're welcome," he said. He brews good beer.

We returned to Luna by mid afternoon to find that Mar-a-Lago and Amarone had left for Royal Island. About six miles to the west, Royal is the jumping off place for the next leg of the journey. This will be a fairly long one. It is more than 50 miles across the deep ocean Northeast Providence Channel from here to Little Harbour, Abaco.

We had thought to spend the day in Spanish Wells and leave very early to catch up with our friends tomorrow. Time to try the VHF. I put out a call on Channel 8, "B to B fleet (Biscayne to Bimini), this is Luna." Immediately, Bruce's bell-clear voice came on the radio in response. "Yes!" I thought.

The others want to leave by 6:30 in the morning and are hoping we will come to Royal this afternoon. We are done in Spanish Wells, and decide to cast off the mooring and make the hour's trip now. Before leaving, I called Chris Forsythe to thank him again for his help and tell him the radio is working perfectly, much to our comfort and delight.

2/18/14 Royal Island to Lynyard Cay, Abaco, Bahamas. 56 nm
2/19/14 Lynyard Cay to Little Harbour, Abaco. 2.2 nm.

Yesterday, the crossing from Royal Island was our third longest passage to date. It was longer by just a few miles than the one from Key Biscayne to Bimini but produced far less angst. We feel more confident in Luna and ourselves.

The wind was stronger and waves higher than the crossing to Bimini. We beat into a 12-15 kt northeast wind. Ocean swells of 4-6 feet lifted Luna but did not break over her bows. With engine running, we maintained 6-7 kts. Leaving Royal Island at 6:30 am, we arrived in the Abacos at 3:30. We passed through the inlet above Little Harbour near low slack tide. We anchored north of Little Harbour because the entrance there is too shallow to pass until the tide rises.

The Sea of Abaco is the shallow bank between the outer barrier cays and Great Abaco Island. Unlike the banks in the Exumas, cruising destinations are close together. We will not be out of sight of land, and there will be no long passages. We can come and go depending on wind direction and our own desire. In that respect, the Sea of Abaco is like Lake Champlain. We look forward to sailing here.

There is an entirely different feel here than in the Exumas and Eleuthera. We can see why this is a popular cruising destination for those who do not wish to "get away from it all." There are more facilities that appeal to cruisers. People come here and stay. Bob and Annie, our Massachusetts friends from Cape May, arrived in Man-o-War on January 27 and are still there. We met Sam and Kayda from Maine. They leave their 30-foot Cape Dory motor-sailer in Green Turtle Cay for the summer and live on it in the winter in the Abacos.

The Abaco cruisers' net starts at 8:15 on VHF channel 68. As Dorothy realized, we are not in Kansas anymore. The net goes on for at least 30 minutes. By comparison, it makes the Georgetown net look like your third grade show-and-tell. People report Abaco weather conditions up and down the chain of islands. Restaurants check in from Hope Town, Man-o-War, Little Harbour, Marsh Harbour. There is a sailboat race to mark the 50th anniversary of the Hope Town Sailing Club. There is a three-day song writers workshop. There is a Junkanoo exhibition this weekend at Marsh Harbour.

Little Harbour is a small protected anchorage at the southern end of Great Abaco Island. There are

Pete's Pub

sea turtles in the water and coconut trees on the shore.There are moorings for rent for $20 per night. Luna, Mar-a-Lago, and Amarone II occupy three of them. From our mooring, we can hear the surf breaking on the beach just on the other side of Pete's Pub and Gallery to our east.


This afternoon, we're sitting in Pete's having lunch. On the menu today is a grilled triggerfish sandwich that comes with rice and coleslaw. The waitress says it's not often they get triggerfish, and it's the best thing on the menu.

Trying to get the ring on the hook

While we're waiting, I play a pub game I saw first in South Bimini. A brass ring hangs from the ceiling on a string. On the wall, about 10 feet away, is a hook. The object of the game is to swing the ring and land it on the hook. It's actually possible to do this.

Pete's is at the head of a small beach where we leave the dinghy. It has a sand floor. Palms thatch the roof. The rafters are decorated with old T shirts left by scores of former patrons. The latter design element is not particularly pleasing to the commander. The tiki bar. After nearly two months, the reality of the Bahamas has caught up with our imagination of it. In time, we'll process it all and decide which image of the Bahamas suits us best.

Beside operating the pub and maintaining the mooring field, Pete Johnston is a sculptor in brass. So was his father, Randolph, who left his teaching position at Smith College and moved here in the early 1950's. At the time, he was disillusioned with life in America after World War II. Society had not learned the lessons of the war in his opinion, and science was devoted not to making life better but to devising more effective ways of killing.

We learned that he landed with his family in Man-O-War in 1952. When the house they were renting was sold, he bought a 47 foot schooner, Langosta. The family explored the Bahamas for two years, eventually returning to the Abacos and settling in Little Harbour. After worms attacked Langosta's bottom, Randolph Johnston moved his family into a cave on the harbor while he was building his house. Eventually he added the foundry as well. He devoted his time in the Abacos to creating art that celebrates life: images of the sea, fishermen, dolphins, coral reefs

Exploring the cave at Little Harbour

 The elder Johnston came searching for a quieter life. In Little Harbour today, there are several houses overlooking the water. The mooring field is full of boats. The pub is busy with cruisers and a boat load of tourists that just arrived from Marsh Harbour on a snorkeling expedition. Were he still alive,

Pete Johnston with Lyndon Pindling, in progress

Ran would have to look elsewhere for a quiet life.

As was his father, Pete is a sculptor of some renown. Currently, on commission from the Bahamian government, he is working on a life-size statue of the Hon. Lyndon O. Pindling, first Prime Minister of the Bahamas. We visit Pete in his studio. There will be a casting tomorrow, and all are invited to watch. We spend the evening wondering, "How can they pour molten metal into a mold and come out with a hollow sculpture?"

2/21/14 Little Harbour to Tilloo Cay, Bahamas 12.2 nm

We spent a second day in Little Harbour yesterday. Saw the studio workers pour molten bronze into three ceramic molds. Had another excellent grilled fish lunch (blackened grouper this time) at Pete's Grill. Walked a bit on the beach. Walked past some of the modest vacation homes near the harbor.

This morning, I did a boat chore: took an abrasive pad to the algae and small barnacles that were growing on Luna's waterline. It looked like she was growing a beard of green hair on her boot stripe.Then, at high tide, we untied the mooring line and headed north toward Hope Town.

You need the high tide to leave Little Harbour, and you need the high tide to enter Hope Town. High tide is at 11:15 am. We couldn't do both, so we dropped anchor in a protected spot south of Hope Town at the northern end of Tilloo Cay.

The Sea of Abaco continues to remind us of Lake Champlain as we sail north.We can see both shores. There are bays and places to anchor. And wherever we look, there are vacation cottages on the shores. There are not the empty spaces of Eleuthera and the Exumas.

The houses on the shore are not the modest Bahamian houses we saw in Spanish Wells. Like the causarina trees, these houses are foreign invaders taking over the shoreline. But the economy has not been kind to vacation homes. As in Spanish Wells, many houses in Little Harbour have For Sale signs outside.

Clearly, we are on the road more travelled up here in the Abacos. There are some signs of environmental stress from the large population of vacationers and cruisers. The conch fishery has declined here. And the water is not crystal clear as it was in the Exumas. There are more grassy patches growing up from the sandy bottom.

The commander and I discuss our plans for leaving and decide to delay things for a couple weeks. This will give us time to explore around a little. It will allow us the luxury of moving in unhurried fashion. And, if we need time for Lake Champlain to warm up before we can return to Vermont, better to wait down here than up north somewhere.

Our plan now is to sail north through the Abacos until mid March. Then, as favorable winds allow, cross the Gulf Stream northward to Ft. Pierce, FL. In between, we'll get to visit the popular Abaco places: Hope Town, Marsh Harbour, Man-O-War, Green Turtle Cay, Great Guana Cay. We start tomorrow by taking in the song writers workshop announced on the cruisers net. It's at Lubbers Landing, a restaurant and bar on the cay just north of our anchorage.

Looking back toward Spanish Wells from the beach at Little Harbor

Exploring Eleuthera

From the Captain

2/9/14 Cambridge Cay to Rock Sound, Eleuthera, Bahamas 46nm.

Anchors are up at 7am, and we motor out the cut into the Atlantic. I am always surprised when, in the space of a few hundred yards, the depth beneath Luna's keel drops from 14 feet to over a mile. The water turns from turquoise to ultramarine.

There is a bit of a wind on our beam, and a bit of a swell. But not much of either. We motor sail across the 25-mile stretch of open ocean to the next island, which is Eleuthera.

The crossing was uneventful. Mar-a-Lago and Amarone kept up a lively conversation on the VHF, comparing speed, way points, depth under keel, sightings of coral deposits under the water, results of their fishing.

Fishing? We are not carrying fishing equipment on Luna. The cockpit is too small for the mess of cleaning fish. We may not be sure the fish we catch is safe or good to eat. And there are fishermen whose livelihood depends on their customers. We'd as soon give them our business. None the less, trolling his lure, Brian hooks something big. His rod bends, and the line flies off the reel. He never sees the fish. Bruce hooks a "baby marlin," but can't get that close to the boat either. There will be no fresh fish for dinner tonight.

We make landfall by early afternoon. In contrast to the collected cays of the Exumas, Eleuthera is a single island. About 90 miles long, it is three miles at maximum width. As the shoreline comes into sharper focus, the first thing we notice is cars driving up and down the island. There are streetlights. Civilization awaits.

A group of English Puritans, the Eleutherans, first settled on the northern part of the island when their ship bound for the new world fetched up on the rocks in the mid-17th century. That settlement died out, but English loyalists resettled the island at the time of the American Revolution. There is soil and water on the island. Plants grow on Eleuthera, and there is agriculture on the island. There is commerce. Hence, the cars.

Rock Sound is the largest settlement in Eleuthera. The harbor is protected by a strip of beach to the north and west. We launch our dinghy as soon as we're sure Luna is anchored securely and motor in to the dinghy dock near the anchorage. It is Sunday, and most of the businesses in the town are closed. We see lawns and landscaped yards. We walk up and down the main street, the Queens Highway. We are not used to looking out for fast cars.

The captain trains for new career--Professional Grandfather

Rock Sound is noted for its Ocean Hole, a geologic formation near the center of town, out east toward the beach. This is an underwater cave, open at the surface where the diameter is 200 feet or so. Some local boys are racing their bicycles around a small traffic circle at the park. They tell us the hole is bottomless. A sign says it is 600 feet deep and connected far underground to the ocean.

The boys are anxious to show off their diving skills. One jumps into the water from a ledge about 10 feet up. Luckily, I'm wearing my bathing suit. I follow him in. The water is brackish. There are colorful fish feeding near the edge. They scatter as we splash.

We walk back toward the dinghy dock. Like most other Bahamian settlements, Rock Sound has a Batelco (Bahamas Telephone Company) office and cellular tower. Likewise, it has a government dock, where the mail boat comes once or twice a week to bring supplies and mail. We walk past the three gas stations and the shopping plaza with hardware and auto parts stores, as well as the largest supermarket on the island.

We stop at Mar-a-Lago for happy hour, and Brian is going over the weather forecasts. Predictions hold for a strong front to pass the area four days from now. Speaking with Bruce on the VHF, we decide to leave here tomorrow and spend two days at Government Harbour, 25 miles to the north. From there, we will travel to Hatchet Bay, a well protected harbor, and wait until the strong gusty winds pass.

2/10/14 Rock Sound to Governors Harbour, Eleuthera, Bahamas 26.6 nm

Today marks a month since we left Nassau. That means for the past thirty days, we have been anchored out. We have not stayed in a marina. We are off the grid, so to speak. The commander and I discuss this and decide we have rather liked it. In the month, we have become more intimately acquainted with Luna. We have learned to bathe in the ocean and rinse off with the sun shower, or in Luna's shower if we have run the engine and the water is hot. We are coping with the routine of getting water and fuel in the plastic jugs and keeping Luna's tanks full. We are conserving electricity and keeping the batteries charged. We bring our trash to settlements that will accept them (most do). We store full trash bags up forward in the anchor locker until we can dump them. We chop our garbage and send it overboard when we are underway. We empty our holding tank at the same time. At anchor, we are swinging in the wind, so there is always a breeze blowing through the cabin. We are free. I predict we will anchor out more on the way back home than we did on the way down.

The others left for Governors Harbour early this morning, and the commander and I went back into the settlement to buy a few groceries and fill the two 5 gallon fuel containers. We stopped at the Scotia Bank ATM to replenish our cash. I went into the auto parts store and the hardware store to try to buy some new antenna lead for the VHF radio. Nothing doing there.

The supermarket is well stocked and is the only place we've found in all the Bahamas that sells--wait for this---miniature Snickers bars! Luna's chocolate locker was getting seriously depleted. American goods in the Bahamas are more expensive than back home. I bought a half-gallon of Florida Natural grapefruit juice for about $2.00 more than at home. On the other hand, English goods are less. The commander bought a jar of English marmalade that was much cheaper than at home. She found a bag of Bob's Red Mill organic gluten-free baking mix for her muffins. She bought an avocado, and a head of hydroponic Bibb lettuce grown in Lucaya, Grand Bahama.

After we were done, Dennis, the stock clerk, drove us and our groceries and our heavy fuel cans back to our dinghy.

Our change from the groceries came in American and Bahamian dollars. The Bahamian dollar bill has a picture of Sir Lynden Pindling, the George Washington of the Bahamas. He was the first Prime Minister to serve after the establishment of majority rule in 1967 and played a key role as the country became independent from Britain in 1973. There is a map of the Bahamas on the front, a picture of a fan coral, and a stylized imprint of a fish. On the back is a picture of the Bahamian Police Band, with crisp white uniforms, pith helmets, and musical instruments raised. In no place on the money is there a reference to the deity. Around here, the dollar is worth exactly the same as the one inscribed, "In God We Trust," and the two currencies are used interchangeably

We left Rock Sound about 10:30 and arrived at Governors Harbour, the capital of Eleuthera in mid-afternoon. We dropped anchor between Mar-a-Lago and Amarone II. The wind, which was light to start with, ceased to exist in the afternoon. The sound along the coast of Eleuthera became flat as Lake Champlain on a windless day. The sunset lingered over the glassy water. Looking out of the harbor at the distant sound, we could have been home at Split Rock looking up the full expanse of the lake on a summer evening.

2/11/14 Governors Harbour, Eleuthera, Bahamas

It's odd to try to sleep on a very still night. We have become used to Luna's noises, and we have devised strategies to cope with them. But on a windless night, Luna's usual noises are silent. There are other noises we haven't heard that we can hear now that louder sounds are quieted.

On windier nights, Luna's halyards may slap against the mast, even though we have pulled them away with bungie cords. When she rocks from side to side, there is a creak where the lockers in the cabin meet the hull. That improved when we sprayed the area with silicone spray. The most annoying noise comes from wires inside the mast. When Luna rocks, these slap the inside of the hollow aluminum mast. I don't know how to stop this one, but if we close the door to the front cabin, the sound drops to a tolerable level.

When the air and water are still, we hear the sound of water striking the hull. The sliding doors in the salon move ever so slightly back and forth in their tracks, making a knocking sound. The refrigerator compressor fan turns on and off.

There is a new sound in Eleuthera: dogs. We saw few dogs in the Exumas. Here, there are dogs, and they bark at night. The town is so small that once one barks, others join. We go to sleep at the sound of dogs barking. We're so tired at the end of the day, it's not that hard to fall asleep.

Then there are the roosters. There are a lot of chickens in town. Good for the diet when the fishing's poor. One night I woke up about 3:30 to check the anchor position and use the head. I was just falling back to sleep when a rooster crowed. 4 am. Way too early. But another joined him, then another. The town makes an arc around the harbor. Soon we were in the middle of an amphitheater of crowing roosters. Eventually, the roosters and I fell asleep, but they were up again at first light.

When we woke up, it was boat day. Boat day is when the weekly mail boat comes to the government dock to bring supplies. Everyone in the settlement and surrounds knows that today is the day that the market will have the freshest produce and the best selection.

Bougainvillea and manicured lawns in Governors Harbour

We'll visit the market later, but first we make plans to walk through the town and over the hill to the Atlantic ocean side. It's a pretty walk. Governors Harbour has some very nice houses, some with swimming pools, most with lawns and landscaping and flowers. Bougainvillea blossom everywhere.

After about a mile and a half, we arrive at the ocean and the Beach House restaurant. They serve lunch and dinner. There is a path from the outdoor dining area to the beach. We can have a swim. They have a shower outside where we can rinse off the salt and sand before having lunch. It sounds ideal.

But it's too early for lunch. We take off again and walk another mile or so down the road to the Leon Levy Native Plant Preserve, a 25-acre tract housing native Bahamian plants. We walk around the guided tour looking at the plants. There is a large section of medicinal plants. The vegetation is lush, as a jungle, though not humid, and the trees are not tall. We are told there is a resident boa constrictor who comes out after a rain and hunts for frogs. We see a couple non-poisonous brown racer snakes. "Don't bother them, and they won't bother you," is the advice from the knowledgeable attendant.

The day is hot, and we are anxious to get back to the beach. As we are leaving, the director arrives.

A swim before lunch at the Beach House

She says, "I saw you walking along the road, and I would have picked you up, but I was going the other way. I had to get into town"

"Why?" we asked.

"It's boat day," she replied.

I guess we walked ourselves out of the market for the freshest produce. But we had a marvelous swim in the clear ocean water. The beach was clean. The shower felt wonderful. The lunch was perfect and

Boat Day at Governors Harbour

relaxed. We had a lovely afternoon.

Back in town, we went to the market and bought a few things. There are two stores, and the smaller of the two sells frozen grouper filets. Thawed and seasoned with Oxacan seasoning, they are perfect on the grill. The commander made Spanish rice--an ideal accompaniment.

2/12/14  Governors Harbour to Hatchet Bay, Eleuthera, Bahamas 16.6 nm.

The weather forecast is holding for a strong cold front coming through tonight and tomorrow. This will bring strong winds starting in the south and moving around to the east and northeast. Our third stop in Eleuthera is a well-protected harbor, surrounded by land on all sides, open to the sea only by a narrow man-made channel.

This would be called the perfect hurricane hole. A safe harbor in time of severe weather. Unfortunately, Hurricanes Andrew and Irene clobbered Eleuthera, and destroyed many of the boats in the harbor. The land around the shore is littered with hulks of boats, and there are sunken boats in the harbor. Says the guide book, "There is no perfect hurricane hole."

The government has placed mooring balls in the harbor for cruisers. All these are taken by the time we get there. We find a place to the northwest of the opening and drop our anchor. We're in 12 feet of water. We let out 80 feet of anchor rode and back the engine to set the hook in the bottom. I get out the snorkel, mask and fins and swim over the anchor. It's totally buried in the sand, and there is no debris around to catch the chain. Looks like we're secure.

Someone makes the rounds of the anchorage to announce a "pre-blow" party at the dinghy dock. We'll get a chance to meet our neighbors and establish a connection so we can look out for each other during the expected storm.

We have time to take the dinghy into the settlement. Formerly known as Alicetown, it is now called Hatchet Bay. We find the general store. Boat day is tomorrow. But, Tommy, the owner, sells ice cream, and we find Klondike Bars in his freezer. Imagine that!

Salty Paws gives a concert

Cruisers party in Hatchet Bay

The dinghy dock is new, and there is a gazebo at the end. Thirty or so cruisers have gathered. Many bring food to share. Bentley and Jim, who have been sailing on the catamaran, Salty Paws, for 11 years, play guitar and banjo. We are treated to a concert on the dock. No one seems particularly anxious about the weather.

 The anxiety will come later. The wind starts about 11pm. By 1:30 am, it has built to gale force, 38 kts. There is rain, intermittent and heavy at times and punctuated by thunder and lightning. Luna is pulling on her anchor and circling to the north as the wind changes direction. I am up hourly to note our position on the iPad and measure the distance from where we dropped the anchor to Luna's current position. Luna's recorded path describes an arc. The points on the arc are equidistant from  the center point where the anchor sits. We are OK. Of course, everyone in the harbor is wide awake as the worst of the storm hits. The wind settles down about 4am.

Remarkably, for all the wind, Luna barely rocks. The harbor really is well-protected, and the waves are small. We're glad to be here. Neither Luna nor other boats experienced any serious problems overnight.

2/13/14-2/15/14 Hatchet Bay

Eleuthera seems to attract a different kind of cruiser than the Exumas. The sailboats here are smaller, not as fancy. This island is out of the way. Yet we met several sailors at the dock party who regularly come here on their way to the Exumas. Commonly, they sail down through the Abacos or cross over from Florida to Nassau. They spend some time here. The weather is better in the winter, and they leave for the Exumas in late February or March after the frequent cold fronts have diminished.

This is not a bad place to be. As other places we've visited, people are open and friendly, and the atmosphere unassuming and relaxed. On the Atlantic side of the island are beaches where surfers congregate. There are names like Hidden Beach, The Dump, the Ledges, and Surfers' Beach. I hear the break here is better than anywhere on the east coast of the U.S. There are hotels and vacation cottages for rent at the beaches.

And, of course, the islanders like nothing better than to feed you.  We have a typical Bahamian meal (fried chicken, fish, or conch, peas and rice, macaroni and cheese or potato salad) at Da Spot.  They're busy. A steady stream of locals stops for lunch.

On the menu is fried chicken, boiled ham, or grilled lamb chops. "The only thing we have left," I'm told at the window to the kitchen, "Is chicken."

"O.K, I'll have chicken, please." For the commander, a big serving of peas and rice. The bill comes to $10.00.

To attract business, they offer free internet service. It's a faster connection than we found anywhere in the Exumas. The commander pays some bills electronically, sends some emails, and checks her Facebook page for the first time in weeks.

Boat day in Hatchet Bay brings us a couple heads of broccoli and some nice tomatoes. The tomatoes in the Bahamas have been most impressive. Not the tasteless rocks you find in supermarkets at home. I don't know where they're grown, but everywhere we have gotten them, they have been good.

Valentines Day at the Front Porch

We're here for Valentines Day. This seems like an important event in the Bahamas. Even in the small settlements, little stores have all their red dresses and blouses on display. Lots of love down here. We look around for a place to have a Valentine's Day dinner and find The Front Porch, a little place on a bluff overlooking the harbor near the government dock. It's so charming, we don't much care what they're having for dinner.

It turns out Gina, the owner and her partner, Francis, are offering a Valentine's Day special. Roasted lamb shoulder and grilled lobster tail: a Bahamian surf and turf. They will be crowded--they can take us at 8pm. Because of the late reservation, our partners bail out. The commander and I will be sharing the occasion alone.

Under the full moon, we bring the dinghy to the government dock. The commander feels this is the best meal we've had since Christmas day. Gina gives her an extra lobster tail because she doesn't want the lamb. There is a salad with a great variety of fresh vegetables. The dinner comes with roasted potatoes, cauliflower and brussels sprouts. There are Valentine's Day cupcakes for dessert. It is a far cry from the traditional Bahamian fried meals we have been having. And excellent.

Gina and Francis visit with us during the meal. Gina, a native of Nassau and Eleuthera, dreams of cruising the Bahamas herself someday and wants to know all about our trip. We encourage her to pursue her dreams.

Francis fishes for king crab. We sailed through several sets of crab traps on the way to Hatchet Bay. He also maintains the moorings in the harbor. He feels strongly that cruisers should be welcomed to the community, though he wishes there were a more formal way to ask for contributions for the water and trash disposal.

We get back to Luna at 10:30. We will spend another day here in the harbor. A secondary front with strong winds is due to pass through tonight and tomorrow. Sunday, 2/16, we will leave for Spanish Wells, a settlement off the northwestern tip of Eleuthera. And from there, we will make the 50 mile ocean crossing to the Abacos. We have enjoyed our time in this protected harbor. On behalf of Mar-a-Lago, Amarone II, and Luna, we will leave a donation in town before we leave.

Sunset on a windless evening in Governors Harbour

Back home on Farmers Cay
smiling in the turquoise sea
lazing in the sun at noon
dreaming safe beneath the moon
Where sky meets sand and sea
my precious island, Farmer's Cay
This is home to me and it will always be

From the Little Farmer's Cay song written by Diane Parker.

Heading North

From the Captain

2/5/14 Georgetown to Little Farmer's Cay, Bahamas. 42nm

Leaving the anchorage at Georgetown

It's up anchors and on the way by 7 am. As we motor out of the harbor, the sun is rising in the southeast off our starboard quarter. We are heading north. Toward home.

There is still a fairly strong southeast wind, in the 17-20 kt range. We are timing our departure to reach the inlet at Farmer's Cay when the tide is slack or near so. With the strong onshore wind, there is likely to be large waves in the inlet when the tidal current is strong. We figure we will make 7 kts. running before this wind, and arrive at the cut by 1 pm. High tide is around noon so the current from the outgoing tide will be minimal at this time.

Nonetheless, on the way I called Steve up in Big Farmer's Cay. He thinks the cut will be fine, but suggests we take the more southerly Galliot Cut, which is wider. And we'll reach it sooner, closer to the slack tide.

The run northward was fun. Waves were in the 4-6 foot range, and Luna rolled along in the following sea. We motor sailed with the genoa and kept speed at around 7 kts as planned. As we reached the cut, the plan was to gybe the jib and furl it partly as we motored through the cut.

There were medium sized waves in the inlet, and confused seas. Beyond, however, was the calm water of the Bahamas Bank. We gybed, then the furler jammed, and we were unable to furl the sail. Rather than head up into the wind and seas, we continued through the cut with full jib. It was fine. The jib steadied us, and I think we rolled much less than our partner boats who motored through with bare poles.

It's wonderful to be back on the banks and out of Georgetown. We had a good week down in Georgetown, and liked the beach to walk, the restaurants where you could have a meal in relaxed Bahamian time overlooking the water. If we were there longer, I imagine all the social activities would have been fun. We liked the stores and, of course, the friendly atmosphere. However, the harbor there is a wind tunnel aimed right at the prevailing wind, which funnels through kicking up the waves and howling in the rigging. We had a rough week at anchor.

And the water there is not crystal clear as it is on the banks. Partly this is due to all the visiting boats. They are urged not to discharge waste overboard into the harbor. But they do.

We anchored on the northwest side of Little Farmer's Cay, by the airstrip. Here is where the sailboat races that are the centerpiece of the 5F festival will happen. We launch the dinghy from the foredeck, attach the outboard motor, and pull up on the beach. There is a tiki bar there, called Ty's. Before getting involved with that, we explore the island with our friends.

We learn the Farmer's Cay was founded about 170 years ago by slaves freed in Exuma. The founders willed the island to their descendants, to be held as tenants in common. Today, there are about 70 residents on the island, related by blood or marriage to Chrisanna and her three children, James Michael Nixon and Adam and Eve Brown. Interestingly, because of the ownership arrangement, no one can secure a building loan from a bank. There are many homes in various stages of construction. People work long enough to earn money to complete the next construction phase, then have to leave the island to earn some more.

Our Bahamas telephone is out of prepaid minutes, so we walked over to a local spot, Ocean Cabin, to buy a couple of cards. The bar is closed, but the owner, Terry Bain, is out back cleaning up to prepare

Terry Bain in front of Ocean Cabin

for the upcoming festival. The First Friday of February on Farmers Cay Festival is actually his creation.

He seems more than happy to take a break, and lets us into the restaurant. Over beers and sodas, he tells us about the island. He is trying to recruit volunteers to help with festival activities. There is a meeting tomorrow to discuss the scavenger hunt and the wet T shirt contest. An equal opportunity sexist, he is also organizing a best legs and buns contest for the men. There is also a sexually suggestive plunger contest that I won't go into further. All in the spirit of fun.

We walk out to the Yacht Club and find some of our friends from the journey. Francie and Ken, the Vermonters from Danby, are here. We met them in St. Augustine and again in Bimini. Alan and Brenda on Haven, our Canadian friends from the Florida crossing, are here. We had left them at Allen Cay.

To return to our anchorage from the yacht club, we walk down a dirt path that ends on the runway of the airstrip. We walk down the airstrip to the beach and the tiki bar. It is happy hour. Killer rum punches are $3.00, and they are serving free conch fritters.

Terry Bain sells a Little Farmer's Cay flag, and at Ocean Cabin, he has a sheet telling the significance of the flag. At the top of the sheet, he has written, "God Bless Farmers Cay, The Bahamas and Everywhere Else." Can you imagine the President of the United States closing his speeches with, "And God bless the United States of America--and everywhere else." What a different country this might be. It will never happen, of course, but I might send a suggestion to whitehouse.gov.

As it is, the Bahamas is not burdened by the mantle of the most powerful nation on earth. Instead of an eagle with a fistful of menacing arrows, it is rather like a shaggy brown dog who rolls onto his back when you come up to him and lets you scratch its belly. Friendly, peaceful, non-threatening, lovable. And fun. The national bird of the Bahamas is, by the way, the flamingo.

Gathering at Ty's

There are thirty or so people at the bar. Some we've met before. Bob and Monique from the catamaran Last Waltz, made the crossing to Bimini with us, and we haven't seen them until now. Steve and Cindy motored up with a friend visiting from Vermont. Cindy has the commander's hat left behind last week. We stayed for sunset in the glow of this little island with a big heart.

2/6/14 Little Farmers Cay to Black Point Settlement to Little Farmers Cay 22 nm.

The group considers staying for the festival, but decides to move up to Black Point. There are tons of laundry to do. After the wet crossings in Georgetown, practically everything we own is salty. We discuss our plans from here. Mar-a-Lago really wants to move on to Eleuthera. Brian sees a cold front coming in on 2/10, and wants to cross on 2/9. Amarone II feels it is important we stay together as a group. Carol and I are in love--with Little Farmers.

Smashie in Blackpoint Settlement harbor

There is a blue racing dinghy, Smashie, anchored in the Black Point harbor off the laundromat. She is a typical Class C Bahamian sailing dinghy. Sixteen feet long, she is cat rigged with tall mast and very long boom that extends beyond the transom and holds the enormous loose footed sail. By tradition and Bahamian rules of dinghy racing, she is made of wood. More than thirty years ago, my father took us to a shop in Hopetown to watch Winer Malone building such a boat. We have a half model of a Bahamian sailing dinghy hanging on our wall back home. During that same trip, we took a dinghy for a sail around Man-O-War Cay in the Abacos. Just seeing Smashie bobbing slightly in the harbor stirs my heart. That settles it for us. We're heading back for the 5F festival and the dinghy races. There had been no doubt in the commander's mind that we would do just that.

The commander does the laundry while I refill our water jugs and dispose of the trash. She buys some fresh lettuce at the local store. We head back to Little Farmers Cay about 2 pm. The 12-15 kt east-southeast wind permits us to hoist both sails for a thrilling two-hour passage to windward. I think I have not been happier since leaving Vermont. Despite our earlier fears of large crowds of boats coming for the festival, we anchor nearly in our old spot by the airport. We are right next to our friends on Harmonium.


2/7/14 The First Friday in February. Little Farmers Cay.

The festival is starting at noon. Phil knocks on our hull in 8:30 the morning to say he and Krista and their guests, Carlos and Carleton, are taking their dinghy to shore to explore a cave a little to the north

Spelunking at Oven Rock

at Oven Rock. We meet Alan and Brenda there along with others we saw at last night's happy hour. There is a short hike up the rough limestone path off the beach through the scrubby woods. At a rock cairn, the path branches and descends into an opening in the rock.

The cave is large and fairly shallow. There are stalactites and a pool of water. A guide on Farmers Cay offers tank diving in the fresh water pool which descends hundreds of feet through an opening at the back of a cave. We wade in the shallow end. There are kids and a dog. It's quite humid inside, but fairly cool. Like all caves, it's a magical place.

Meanwhile, there is a steady stream of small airplanes landing and taking off from the airstrip. They are bringing Nixon-Brown relatives back home from Nassau. And visitors from other islands. A few large outboard boats bring people from Great Exuma Island. There is a large boat from Georgetown at the government dock in the harbor on the other side of the island from the airstrip. It is unloading passengers and several dinghies from the out islands. This is a big deal. The Deputy Prime Minister of the Bahamas flies in. Observes the commander, "It's like Joe Biden showing up at Addison County Field Days."

At noon, we walk over to the harbor to see what is happening. Terry has organized his volunteers to conduct the various games. Bob is in charge of the wet T shirt contest. Monique volunteered to organize the men's best legs and buns competition. Terry is buzzing around, chatting up everyone and taking photos of his friends and family members as well as the visitors from the cruising community. Befriend Terry Bain or Ocean Cabin on Facebook. Perhaps you will see pictures of the commander and me.

People are lined up for lunch at Ocean Cabin. Other food vendors have set up stands nearby. The commander and I split a cracked conch platter from Brenda's take out, next to the grocery store. I get most of the conch and macaroni and cheese and a little bit of the peas and rice and coleslaw.

The contest and events seem to attract the sailing crowd. No Bahamian faces there. Everyone else is over by the airport beach where the dinghy races will start. We walk the road back over to that side of the island, a half mile or less.

Ty's, the beach bar, is blaring Bahamian music from speakers on the deck. It's jumpy music, a hint of Caribbean. From the American Bandstand days, I would say it's got a great beat and is easy to dance to. In fact, it's hard to keep still. Many songs describe how good life is in the Bahamas.

Hiking out on the windward leg

But the dinghy races have started, and the dozen or so little boats are sailing a triangular course inside the boats anchored near the beach to beyond the furthest boats. Luna is among the further boats. A perfect vantage point.

The commander and I hop in the dingy and return to Luna to watch the reaching dinghies sail right past our stern, then turn and start to beat back toward the beach. As they beat into the wind, they extend boards to windward, and crew members sit outboard to level the boats. The more the boats heel, the further out, and the more crew members, sit on the heeling boards.

In the next to last circuit, Smashie is in the lead. "Go Blackpoint," we yell as they pass. In the end, Smashie is the winner. There will be another heat later in the day, and tomorrow will be the finals.

Serious money is riding on this race. Large bets are placed on favorite boats. The prize for the winner is $5,000, supplied by the regatta committee and the Bahamian government, eager to promote tradition and community in the outer islands.

Afterward, Ty's is full. People are having dinner, dancing, drinking. The mix seems equally divided between Bahamians and cruisers. The atmosphere is friendly. A cameraman and attractive anchor are filming interviews with festival participants. It seems they are mostly interested in the white ones. "Is this your first time in the Bahamas? What do you like best?" I wonder how many answered, "The rum punches!"

Glen, whom we met in No Name Harbor, has a birthday today. His wife, Deborah, a retired Mountie, has organized a party, and Monique has baked a cake. The DJ makes some comments, and all sing "Happy Birthday," which apparently is the same in the Bahamas and Canada as in the U.S.

The music continues. A small troop of Junkanoo dancers in costume shows up. The drum beat takes us back to Bimini.

Ty mixes with the crowd outside. I observe his accent doesn't really sound Bahamian. He tells me he lives in Canada, and, in fact, he played professional football in the Canadian Football League. He returns to Little Farmers regularly. He has a passion for his fast cars, particularly his Camaro with a custom 453 engine. He shows me photos of this on his i-Pad.

As the sun sets, we have dinner on the beach with Phil and Krista and their friends. The commander has a fried grouper plate, and I have barbecued spare ribs. Of course, with peas and rice and corn or macaroni and cheese. Someone puts a beer ticket in my hand, and I get a last Kalik at the bar. At some point, I will be moved to wonder, "My God, does it get any better than this?"

It does. We motor out to Harmonium where Carleton treats us to a "nightcap," a cup of decaf coffee with Tia Maria, Kahlua, and half and half we brought from Luna's fridge. The music onshore goes on well into the night. Thankfully, Luna only rocks with every third or fourth measure.

2/8/14 Little Farmers Cay to Cambridge Cay

It's hard to leave. The festival continues today, and the final dinghy races are this afternoon. But our friends, who spent yesterday at Black Point, are heading up to Cambridge Cay to make the crossing to Eleuthera tomorrow.

Should we stay or should we go? We have been discussing this for two days. Little Farmers is wonderful. The festival is really exciting. The dinghy races are interesting. The vibes are friendly. Food is great. Beer and rum punch flow. Water is sparkling and warm. There hasn't been a cold front for nearly two weeks. Days are warm and sunny. Isn't this why we are in the Bahamas? Why go anywhere? We're here! After a month in the country, we can say with conviction, "We totally get it!"

On the other hand, eventually, we will have to move north. Luna's radio still doesn't reach more than 5 or 6 miles. I will probably need to replace the antenna wire in the mast. And she's an older boat. She's doing great. But we're aware that things can happen. And if we're out of radio range, we cannot summon help. So in the end, we trade our freedom to sail our own voyage for the security of traveling with buddy boats. Plus, they're our buddies. We've grown close over the last month or two.

We make the rounds of the anchorage to say good-bye to Bob from Last Waltz; the commander's new friend, Carmen, crewing for Bill on Providence; Glen and Debbie on their C&C Landfall 38; and Phil, Krista, Carlos, and Carleton on Harmonium. Carleton and Carlos have arranged a charter flight from the airstrip here to Georgetown, where they will catch their flight back to Toronto tomorrow. They are all happy to be able to spend today here at the festival instead of making the trip back in their boat. No problem!

As we raise anchor and head north, I think of Little Farmers. I think of the Bahamas. I think how nice this adventure is getting, now that the weather has improved and we are sailing familiar waters. For some reason, Van Morrison is playing round and round in my head,

"Do you remember when,
We used to sing:
'Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
la-la-ti la-ti da ?
'Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
la-la-ti la-ti da ?
My brown-eyed girl.
You-oo, my brown eyed girl."

With the sails up and the wind to our backs, we motor sail up to Cambridge Cay, on the southern edge of the Land and Sea Park. There is a protected anchorage between Cambridge Cay to the east and Bell Island to the west. The park maintains mooring balls. Mar-a-Lago and Amarone II are there. We put a line through the pennant on the mooring behind Amarone.

There is a knock on the side of the hull, and Julie is there with her husband in their dinghy. They are park volunteers from Virginia on their second Bahamas cruise in 4 years. They are staying in the anchorage for a month. Their job is to collect mooring fees, maintain the trails to the ocean, and clean the flotsam from the beach. The park supplies them with water and weekly rides south to Staniel Cay for supplies. We imagine a weekly shopping excursion to the Pink Store or the Blue Store. Perhaps when the mailboat comes to bring fresh produce, the selection is better than we saw.

We gladly pay our $15 for the mooring. Julie tells us of all the beautiful places for snorkeling, walking, and general exploring near us. The water here is clearer than any we've seen so far. Floating in 12 feet of water, we can stand on Luna's deck and count the wrinkles in the sand beneath us.

None of the exploration will happen, of course. We're on a mission with a schedule, and we're leaving early in the morning for Eleuthera. Of course, there are places we'd like to explore further. We wonder, briefly, whether it would be better to spend the rest of our time looking around the Exumas in greater depth rather than continuing our present course, superficially traversing the country as a whole.

Up until now, it was not clear to me why anyone would want to make this journey twice. But now I'm beginning to see. For one thing, on the second trip, like Julie and her husband, we would know exactly where to go and where to stay. For another, there's the country itself, the beautiful brown-eyed girl in the midst of the emerald sea--"sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la; la-la-ti-la-ti-da."

Bahamian sailing dinghies on a reach sail past Luna