Cold and tired

The sun has just come out and the wind eased, so we are feeling much better, but we spent the week since Georgetown being cold, tired and a bit hacked off.

It's a relative thing, of course. For us to complain it's cold when the air temp is 23C (74F) and the water about the same is going to sound a little funny to most of our northern hemisphere friends. But it has been overcast, cool by normal standards and windy, oh so windy. A near constant twenty to twenty-five knots (that's almost thirty mph) for a week is hard work and it drains us. Our desire to leave Georgetown and push north into the quieter islands led us to make a couple of trips that were fine for Nick and the boat, but left Gesa ready to hop on a plane and meet us in Florida.

Leaving Georgetown in a fresh breeze, we picked our way through the complicated exit to the harbour, with reefs, shoals, sandbars and coral heads to avoid en route. As soon as we are clear of the tricky bits, we settle the boat on course and Gesa says bye bye, she's downstairs on the saloon couch to avoid her seasickness getting the better of her. The kids are in normal passagemaking mode - aft cabin, video on, demanding snacks every ninety minutes. I set out both fishing lines, keep watch and read a book. Three hours to our destination.

We're half way there when the fishing line zizzzes out (sorry, yes, this is another fish story, skip to /endfish is you want). I spin the boat around to stop her, grab the rod and start reeling in. It's hard work. Gesa appears to help. She gets the gloves and the gaff - a pole with a big sharp hook on it that you use to spear the fish and drag it aboard - and the winch handle to deliver the last rites to the poor thing. She then offers to bring in the second line so it doesn't tangle, which is a very good idea.

I fight the fish. It's strong, very strong. Gesa has finished reeling in the other line and it has taken it's toll, working head down in these big seas has set off her seasickness. I can't help anyway, so keep fighting the very feisty fish. Gesa leans over the other side and returns her breakfast to the fishes. Well, to the ones that aren't being dragged sideways by my hook. Eventually I get the fish within about twenty yards of the boat and can see it - it's huge. A mahi-mahi, dolphin or dorado depending on your choice of names, and about five feet long. I'm amazed how big it is as it jumps out of the water trying to escape. As I get him closer I start worrying about how I'm going to gaff him and drag what is probably forty pounds of fighting machine onto the boat without Gesa's help, and in that moment I am distracted enough to let him have some slack on the line. Stop fighting and the fish wins - he jumped and got off the hook. Probably a good thing.

Gesa returns to her berth with an air of resignation and a look that doesn't bode well for me later. I return the boat to course, reset the fishing lines and off we go again. It's not fifteen minutes before the reel goes out again, I stop and reel in the fish. This time no-one comes to help me and I'm glad to get a more sensibly sized mahi, bring it alongside, gaff it and fling it into the cockpit. Time to go again, but might as well get in that second line, we don't want any more fish than we can eat. Well, don't you know, there's one on there too. This one is smaller still so it's easy to flip on deck without the damaging gaff, and I'm able to set it free to fight another day. Lucky fish.

I haven't had time to deliver the last rites to the fish in the cockpit, so it's still flopping around there, and has attracted the attention of the kids in the aft cabin. One window of that cabin looks into the cockpit well where the fish is, so they are sticking their arms through the window to touch the fish and shrieking every time it flops. Remember this is a three foot long fifteen pound lump of muscle with sharp fins, so I quickly put an end to that game and its aquatic participant.

Back on course and sailing again, I clean the fish. Issie and I are delighted to find it is a female with huge amounts of roe, so it's mahi cavier and fish egg sausages for us. The other two are less taken by this delicacy but we all enjoy mahi in all it's forms for the next few days.

/endfish.........

The final stage of this twenty five mile passage is to get into our anchorage. This area is a hundred mile long string of low islands on the edge of the Great Bahamas Bank. There are occasional narrow gaps between the islands, known as cuts, where you can move from the deep, sometimes rough, waters of the Exuma Sound to the shallow, coral and sandbank paradise of the Bank. The trouble is all caused by the moon, which does its best to drag the waters of the sound onto the bank, and off again, twice a day. The resulting tides squeeze through the cuts at high speed and make life especially difficult if the tide flows out against the prevailing wind, when nasty sharp waves set up and can, in extremis, endanger the boat.

This is our first proper cut we have done. Rat Cay Cut is a little different in that it runs a bit north-south so is less affected by the problems of wind against tide, and thankfully I have got my tidal calculations right so we arrive when the water is flowing with us, with the wind, onto the banks. The cut, despite being only a hundred yards wide, is a pussycat. A nice expanse of smooth water beckons and we pass easily between the vicious rocks on either side. Inside we follow the dark blue, deeper water around and seek out an anchorage. A little gentle running aground in soft sand makes Gesa's day but we eventually tuck up comfortably near a beautiful 'hanging island' where the tide has eaten out the soft rock at the base of the island leaving a sort of rock mushroom with a narrow trunk supporting a big cap of limestone. The water colours are fabulous, all around us going from sandy yellow, through all possible shades of turquoise and light blue, into deeper blues and greens. This place would be great if only it wasn't so windy.

The following day we set out again and the wind has risen another few knots. This time the cut is no pussycat. It's rough, steep seas and both wind and tide against us as head out with the engine at full throttle but still just making headway out to sea. The boat rises over the crest of a wave to crash back down into the front of the next one. The waves are well over ten feet, just twenty or so feet apart. It's tough but we eventually break free of the grip of the current, hoist sail and turn on course. I offer Gesa the chance to turn back and wait for calmer weather but we both know this isn't due for three days. 'After what I've just been through to get out here, no way are we turning back' she says. And disappears down below for the rest of the offshore journey. It's too rough to fish anyway, so I just read and actually enjoy this weather, the boat is loving it and going very well, the sun is kind of shining and at least we are using this wind to our benefit instead of sitting at anchor being blasted by it.

The cut at the far end worries me though, I read all three pilot books and double check my tide tables. It's narrow and complex once inside, with a couple of nasty sandbars. As it turns out, the cut isn't too bad and we are safely inside but I do want to get out of the strong currents running though the obvious anchorage and look to get behind the island of Little Farmers Cay. Unfortunately, to do this you have to hug the south shore of the rocky island more closely than you would think wise, and we miss that turn, taking a finger of deeper water instead. We realise what we have done but, tired and ready to anchor, we decide not to try again and take one of the earlier anchorages. It's fine, but we are hit by most of the force of the wind and the current runs hard, forcing me to wake up at two am to watch the boat swing round when the tide moves from ebb to flood. I need to make sure that the about turn of boat and tide doesn't shake our anchor free. It doesn't, of course, but it's a disturbed night none the less.

The next morning we do move behind the island where it is lovely and calm, and that is the start of our much more relaxed recent days. The weather has got better and better, we've met some great people and seen some lovely places, which I will write about soon, if you really want more words (pictures, I know, pictures!). The forecast is for gentle winds and sunshine for at least a week which is great. Roll on the Bahamas.

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