Log of Natie M. - Exumas Land & Sea Park

2/4/09 Departed Exumas Park this morning. The visit here has been memorable. For the past week or so I've been getting up to do breakfast and the weather on the shortwave before dinghying into park headquarters to report to Andrew the volunteer coordinator. Since moving to the northern anchorage it has been a wonderful respite from the winds and rolling waves of the Emerald Rock Anchorage. Even though I've been doing this voyage in little bits, not being able to sleep soundly without rolling side to side or worrying about my anchor or the other guys anchor has frankly been a pain in the butt. Since moving to the very sheltered mooring field I've been able to comfortably sleep every night almost completely unconcerned as to the sea state or weather. The current, though very strong, as most elsewhere in the Exumas, has been of little concern as the Natie M. is firmly moored. Operation Cassaurina has been going well, having chopped and hacked our way south along the beach, eliminating about two thirds of the invasive along the high water line. They are going to have one heck of a bon fire. Sorry I'm going to miss it. We constructed about 12 individual piles of branches and logs, stretched over a quarter mile. I fortunately survived my chainsaw duty though dressed in clothes and shoes that would give an OSHA inspector a fit. The typical day would start at 9 with Andrew signing in of a new batch of volunteers from other cruising boats, loading a somewhat battered Carolina Skiff and motoring across the cut and several islands to Hawksbill. If sea state conditions prohibited a beach landing we would motor around to the western side and unload our gear including Big Bertha, the giant chainsaw. Of course this landing would involve packing said gear across the island along a meandering trail, then down a stretch of beach, which with our daily progress was getting longer and longer. This was the only part of this job that I did not enjoy. Fortunately with the wind coming off shore, several of the days we were able to drive the skiff right up to the next tree in line and we would be able to get started with out being already worn from a long hike. As we moved further south on the beach the trees were a little older and more complex; that is they were sending out runners and establishing shoots or smaller trees further inland. It was hard work pulling them up. After they finish this beach they will be able to patrol and cut down any sprouts that reappear more easily controlling the area. The other somewhat dangerous part of the job was the actual cutting of the main trunk down. We would remove the lower branches first and go as high as safely possible, then with very stylish chaps on, I would fire up Big Bertha for the take down. Thanks to the volunteers the rest of the disassembly would go reasonably quickly. As I would cut the tree apart the volunteers would drag the debris to the beach and pile it. Needless to say at the end of the day I was ready for 1: dinner; and two: a very large rum drink before turning in at dark for a read or just sleep. I don't want to leave the impression that it was all work at the park. Its an incredibly beautiful place. I snorkeled practically pristine reefs with large grouper and snapper that you would not find in places that are heavily fished or developed. The coral heads were very healthy, each with its own cloud of intensely colored fish. I saw shark and eagle rays, the later being the most impressive, with upwards of 4 foot wing span, schooling in small groups going in lazy effortless circles around the reef. It was amazing. Every trip out to Hawksbill also featured commentary by Andrew on local lore or natural history of the park and the area. Every day was a learning experience punctuated with sawdust. One dive spot located just to the north of Warderick wells, in 40 feet of intensely clear water, schools of black tip reef sharks would rise up to check out the boat along with mature grouper, all protected and obviously fed by the visiting sport divers to this popular spot. It was a great time. I was invited by the chief warden and his wife who administer the park to have dinner at their house on Friday. Dubbed the solo sailors' dinner, I got to better meet some of the other solo sailors who spent a lot of time at the park doing volunteer work. (Also got to watch a little tv news after along fast, hope everyone is well back home) After the week physical labor my body was starting to wear a little, with my legs and arms covered in scratches, back and neck aching, it was time to move on to hopefully recover and replenish supplies. I was towards the end running on potatoes and pasta morning noon and night. I was longing for a cold beer and something green that didn't come out of a can. All in all, my entire visit was definitely a memorable one and I hope to return someday to once again offer my chainsaw trigger finger in the noble fight against exotic species! I would strongly recommend a visit to this place if you happen to be sailing in the area that is. It is accessible only by boat. So with the dawn on the fourth of February I headed south, running jib and jigger in a stiff breeze to Staniel Cay, site of the famous Thunderball Rock (I'll talk about that further on). The wind was in the upper 20's with waves when I arrived and anchored off the town beach. After checking the anchor I dinghied over to the beach which is right in town and got rid of the garbage that was accumulating onboard and purchased some groceries. Man the cost of food in this country is murder. Everything is brought in by boat with very little food produced in country. Add to that the duty they slap on, your talking almost two dollars for a can of tuna or 5 bucks for a can of juice. I'm looking forward to getting somewhere with some form of domestic agriculture and food production! After groceries had a little money left and went to the local watering hole and bought a bottle of Bahamian rum, a treat to ease my aches and pains. As I was heading back to the Natie M., about 100 yards away, got to witness a Royal Bahamian Defense Forces patrol boat, alter coarse (it seemed to me at least) to run over my anchor line. As they came by heading into the town dock, one of the crew yelled that I might want to check my line. This must be what the Prime Minister meant by that new level of personal service to boaters when justifying the higher duty and entrance fees. Previously they wouldn't have bothered to tell you that they just ran over your anchor line. With supplies loaded I motored further into the harbor area and around the back of Thunderball rock. The reason this is called thus is that it is where the Spectre secret hideway sea cave scene of the James Bond movie was filmed. I dropped the hook in relatively calm waters just behind, but I felt a safe distance away from the huge rock with its undercut shore and shear sides. Getting settled in I attended the happy hour with the other cruisers at the Thunderball club, so named for the Sean Connery motif, and was back and tucked in shortly after dark. I knew that the currents are tricky in this anchorage with the tidal surges so I set the clock for a couple of wake ups during the night. The first one was at 12 midnight. At 11:45 I was awaken by the boat seemingly suddenly yawing back and forth. The Natie M. tends to do some swinging on the hook in wind, but this was ridiculous. It was like the agitator in a giant Maytag was suddenly turned on with me in the middle of it. My eyes opened to the starlite night sky through the companionway, only the stars where spinning around almost 360 degrees at an alarming clip. I was like one of those time lapsed photos of the night sky where the stars make a circular track in the northern hemisphere. With a loud expression and expletive (you all know which one) I leaped out of my berth and stuck my head out the companionway to discover that my anchor was totally useless and my boat was making a zig zag course with the chaotic current closer and closer to the shear wall of the Thunderball rock. Pulled on a pair of shorts and started the motor just as the boat veered again as the anchor chain became taught again and with almost a centripetal coarse, I was slingshot directly at the rock. Slamming the motor into reverse to slow my progression towards the immovable hunk of limestone I slowly clawed away from the rock wall, not before "kissing" it with my anchor roller. My heart pounding and though cool that night , sweating profusely, I as able in sequence motor, pull in the anchor and motor some more till I had control of the situation. Not to be dramatic, but I believe this is the closest I came to sinking a boat. If I had not come up when I did I could have easily holed the Natie M. and become a permanent resident of Staniel Cay along with my home becoming the latest artificial reef. Having had enough of anchoring in a tidal surge, I motored in the bright moonlight over to an unoccupied mooring. Now moored I was able to see that the kiss I received from Thunderball, made a mess of the anchor roller but to my relief no other damage to the hull or stem. I was lucky, really lucky. Another lesson in the school of hard knocks, literally. Spent the rest of the night at the mooring and with an adrenaline hangover I woke up at dawn and got out of there. I decided to head down to Little Farmers Cay, my next planned destination, so that I could attend the Bahamian Cat boat regatta and festival. It's known to be quite a party with a lot of cruisers attending. The Cay has barely 60 full time inhabitants but does have a yacht club and grocery store. Other than a Baptist Church and some houses, some pretty dilapidated or in various stages of construction. Thinking the anchorage would be pretty crowded I arrived early to see some old friends already there. The weather unfortunately, was high winds and cool, such that most everyone was in foul weather jackets or coats all the day. I anchored off shore the yacht club and after squaring away went in to check out the town. It took all of an hour to see the entire settlement and as it was practically deserted was beginning to wonder if I was in the right place. Upon visiting the yacht club decided to take a mooring again, perhaps still with the vivid memory of the night before wanting some relief from the rolling seas of the anchorage I was in. Got some groceries and tucked in for the night. The next morning the VHF chatter was all about the race boats and when and where they would arrive. The Bahamian racing fleet consists of catboats of three different classes. The class of boat that was going to be raced here consisted of a 17 or so foot wooden shoal draft catboat with a lot of sail area. The sailing is similar I later discovered to the log canoe racing of the Chesapeake where to compensate for the huge amount of sail area on a small vessel with hardly a keel are lee board made of 2x10s that slide out 8 feet to windward. So anyway, everybody is taking on the radio asking where the race boats were, and if with the high winds would the regatta even come off when around the southern point, blaring Bahamian music comes a tramp mail boat with what appeared to be several small hulls stacked up on the deck. With a dramatic entrance the Captain C tied up at the lone dock of the Little Farmers Cay Yacht club and began to off load, with the help of multiple hands and a crane and everyone yelling over the din of the music and wind, the brightly colored hulls. The crews and captain/owners, each were supervising the offloading of their respective vessels. I had come into shore to witness the spectacle. It was like the entire island went into high gear now that the regatta cat boats had arrived! I seemed between the yelling and wild gestulations of the crews rigging their boats would go on for hours but by noon all the boats were rigged and each participant, most with either a Kalik or Guiness in hand, had begun the captains meeting which mostly consisted of some outlining of rules but mostly wagers between the various crews. I joined in the festivities, being well passed noon now (I think 2 minutes past) was drinking a cold beer with some of the other cruisers. Several of them (men only, apparently a very macho sport) where able to get a spot on one of the race boats. Of course I was willing to jump in also, just had to find a boat willing to take an American onboard. Lucky for me the high winds meant that a lot of the crews were short handed insofar as ballast and I was barely into my first beer when a heavy built Bahamian came up to me, slapped me on my back, and asked if I was sailing today. I said yes if you got a spot, "you on mon!"he replied. I asked where I should report to and the racer named Kelly told me he would find me when they were ready. So it was wait around and chat with crews and cruisers and enjoy the festivities all the while with my eye to the squally clouds that seemed to be advancing on us and the ever freshening wind. I returned to the boat to get out my jeans and into some more appropriate sailing attire that would keep warm for it was apparent that it was going to be a very cold wet day. It was with a sudden change in vibe and upon some signal that I obviously missed, everyone, requisite beer in hand, began to load onto either the tenders that would take them to the race boats anchored off the pier or to the tow and committee boats. I scrambled over the high side of the mailboat where my cat boat was tied and landed on my ass in the "H2O" right in front the wizened old man already on board who I later learned was Kelly's Father. My ego bruised but otherwise un hurt I introduced myself and hoped that the crew wasn't worried about the green horn they had recruited and my incompetent boarding. After Kelly and another cousin got on board we struggled with the rigging of the mainsail. They had not planned on the high winds and were forced to borrow a very used smaller sail with a reef. The standing rigging was somewhat primitive but the boat itself, though a simple design was very well built and obviously well cared for with fresh paint. The mast itself was a single log of some type of pine seeming similar to yellow pine. Finally we were able to tie on to a small motor skiff who towed us around the northern point and out to the course. The starting line is formed, by two buoys, and caste off the tow boat after a man of my size in a windbreaker and sweatpants jumped aboard. I soon learned that he was man who made many of the masts used on these vessels and that the owner had taken onboard as what I can only describe as the tactician. He quickly made his authority known with a running commentary of the state of the rigging of the boat and how we had set it up. He of course barely acknowledged my presence on board, being just a lump of ballast and all. I found myself hanging to this little boat, five of us scrambling over and under each other to keep the boat moving, and preferably up right. I quickly became concerned when I realized that I did not understand hardly a word the tactician spoke or rather yelled, but it was obvious he was obeyed and listened to, albeit with some consternation by Kelly at the almost continuous criticisms. I was probably part of this litany but was spared any insult as I could barely understand what he said speaking in the thickest Bahamian patois I had heard yet on the islands. We sailed down wind with just a small patch of sail hoisted. Just before reaching the start line, having approached up wind, one of the crew caste off the anchor and lets out line till the boat settles back to the start line. This is an extremely important part of the race, I quickly learned, as enough rode must be let out that the anchor, more or less a grappling hook, can securely set so as the boat can then be "placed" right behind the line. The result of this type of start is that boats that do not place their anchor correctly can find themselves dragging back as much as 10 or 15 feet behind the line. This of course is done with a lot of yelling amongst and between the crews and the committee boat who yells instructions and admonishments to the various boats. The boats that were in good position, ours I was happy to see included, would yell to the race official "Lets go boy!" wanting to take advantage of their position while other still struggling boats plead for one more minute! Finally, the official raised the Bahamian national flag and after a brief delay, drops the flag and the race is off! With the start, two crewman's job is to quickly haul in the anchor while a third raised the main halyard. As I said earlier my expectation was to be not much more than ballast but I was soon caught up in pulling with all my might the anchor rode, dropping the anchor on my bare foot. I did not have time to dwell on the pain for there was more of that to come later on in the race. With every tack, just as we luffed and came across the wind, I would dive into the hull and cram my head beneath the 18 foot boom, which clear the deck by barely inches. With each tack we would take on a lot of water as the coming and gunnels of the cat boat were not very high. One of us would have to dive down to the cockpit sole and connect a bare wire to the battery so as to turn on the bilge pump. Each boat has two lee boards, each with two crew man hiking out to the very edge on every tack. The wind was blustery with a lot of gusts, so I was constantly sliding out to the very end of the board and then just as suddenly back in. I was thankful the owner maintained these boards with a strong painted finish with no splinters. Of course each maneuver was accented with a lot of yelling and commentary on the skills of the crew and other boats positions in the race by the boats tactician. It soon became apparent not only how competitive these sailors were but how skilled. I was occupied most of the time making sure I was in the right place at the right time and not screwing up. One one tack I was sure we would not be able to make the mark, but with the constant observation and adjustment of the sail and main sheet the tactician coached Kelly's Dad, who was at the helm, into perfectly making the mark. I was truly impressed. It was with every gust or slight shift of the wind, adjustments to the trim would be made, to give us the advantage. What a race. We came in a respectable mid field, having a difficult start. I was hooked. That night I hanged out at the yacht club to listen to the various captains and crew yell, place wagers, brag and generally have a hell of a good time. I was really taken with the passion these sailors, in these little handmade boats, bring to their sport. I was sipping a beer trying to follow the conversation. One phrase that kept coming up, during what I took to be an argument over race rules, was "NASCAR rules". At first thinking that I was not hearing right, misunderstanding some arcane yachting term mixed into the Bahamian patois, found that it was a racing term equal with the fouling of another vessel by violating its right of way during a race or prevent it from making way. The NASCAR rule they referred to was when, as I understand it, a car forces another car to the outside of a curve during a during a turn in an oval coarse. Never thought I would hear NASCAR and sailing in the same conversation. The next day, Saturday, the main day of the festival and regatta, I was happy to learn that Kelly wanted me back aboard. Guess I didn't screw up to bad the day before. The race was even more exciting, with the first. At first we had a great lead, with a quick start and again impressive tactics, but as we rounded the first mark we were squeezed on our windward side by another racer. The result was the lee board that I and another crew were hiked out on was over the coaming of the adjoining boat. Dad, again at the helm, lost his nerve, no doubt concerned over the impending collision, and quickly veered off, the result being that my crewmate and I quickly found ourselves in the water, desperately hanging on to both our boat and that of our competitor. Of course this was all made complete chaos with the yelling of both crews. Our tactician was really livid, as he lit into Dad over the blunder. I thought a bit untoward to be so disrespectable to a 70 year old man. After we recovered two places and struggled with the rest of the race to recover. Even with that critical mistake we were still competitive and came in third that race. As I said, the excitement of the race and my concentration over making sure I was correctly balanced made it difficult to remember all the details of each individual race. It was thrilling. I was cold and wet when I waded into shore in the afternoon to attend the party and award ceremony alongside the beach, which incidentally was alongside the runway of the airport. No less than a 100 feet away, as the party raged, twin beech and other aircraft were landing and taking off, sometimes with festival goers walking alongside the runway! The rest of the evening hanged with other cruisers and as we circulated between the different party sites of the festival. Being exhausted from the days sailing, though, called it an early night and returned to the Natie M. One highlight of the evening was meeting a family of four from Canada that also were there on a C&C Corvette from Quebec. We agreed to meet tomorrow and visit each others vessels to compare. Didn't think I would run into another of these old and relatively rare vessels in these waters! 2/9/09 With the wind shifting to the east, I left the mooring and motored over to western side of the island yesterday afternoon. It was now quite calm and I dropped anchor with the intention repairing the damage to the anchor roller at Thunderball. The other corvette later on motored over and anchored near by and we took turns visiting each others vessel. It was fun to talk with another cruiser about the same vessel, with similar characteristics and idiosyncrasies. I've been getting the hang of the cruising lifestyle after a somewhat fitful start. The weather is even starting to get a little more into the range one would expect in the tropics, though I hear the jet stream is expected to dip south again next week. Need to reduce my latitude a little more.