We’ve talked about it before: our philosophy is to do everything in small increments, making progress one little “baby step” at a time.  We like goals, milestones, checkpoints, and measurable results.  We might be a little bit weird that way.  We also like being totally within our comfort zone.

We moved aboard the boat in the following progression: one night aboard, weekends aboard, a month aboard, then living aboard full time at the dock.  When we knew how to live on the boat, we left the dock and hung on a mooring ball in Marathon for 5 months.  Weaned of the dock, we were ready for a cruise and left Florida for three months in the Bahamas.  At each step we made progress in a one particular area so that we were completely at ease for the next step.  

Sometimes we make mistakes, or something unexpected happens to shake things up, but otherwise our day-to-day existence is pretty normal.  It is certainly different than if we lived ashore, but to us it has the same sense of normalcy.  While we may not notice it all the time, and we probably wouldn’t have described our goals in any such terms, that kind of normalcy in itself is a major success.  This is our life, and it works.

Much of the reason for our return to Florida is to gain perspective on our time away, compare the reality to our expectations, reset the expectations that weren't met, and make any necessary changes before setting out again.  We already have a pretty good list of lessons learned and hope to address them directly in individual posts.

Jay and I have been trying to solve the mystery of George Town ever since we arrived here. Why does everyone flock here to Elizabeth Harbour every year? They are expecting nearly 400 boats during the peak, Regatta time in early March. And many of the folks here have been here every year for the last decade, or more. Because Jay and I are people who like to explore new places and rarely retread the same paths, this mystifies us.

So we’ve been here for ten days or so, and quietly observed, and have discovered a thing or two.  First, most of the people here come from Northern climes. There are some Florida boats, but even that region has been cold (for those who live on a boat) the last couple of years. So the warm weather is a big draw for sure. We are right at the line of the Tropic of Cancer, so this is technically a tropical paradise. Second, the summer-camp atmosphere lends itself well to people enjoying a second youth. Most of the people we see are our parents’ age, but you’d never know it from the way they act. They’re kayaking, windsurfing, snorkeling, spearfishing, playing volleyball and doing yoga on the beach. Every day. Plus there are basket-weaving classes, Bocce Ball, Regatta committees, choir practice, art classes, dances, poker games, and other social events too numerous to name.

For as freely as we live, with homeschooling and self-employment, our lives still revolve around the necessary routines of mealtimes, laundry, schoolwork, bread-winning and bread-baking, and bed times for small children. We aren’t exactly footloose and fancy-free. So we go to the beach every afternoon after the work is done, but so far I haven’t felt compelled to join a pick-up volleyball game, though I do love the game. Really, I just want to sit with my feet in the sand and read my book. Maybe it’s the pregnancy, or maybe because my energy ebbs by 4 o’clock, but I feel a bit of role reversal. The Sixty-Somethings are out at the bar until the wee hours and Jay and I collapse shortly after the children go to bed.

I was, at first, a bit critical of people who keep coming back to the same place year after year (yawn) but, who knows, maybe after we’ve tired of always looking for a new place, we will look back on this place fondly, or some other like it, and want to call it home for part of every year. By the time our chicks have fledged, we will be looking for that second wind, and hopefully we will find the Fountain of Youth that the cruisers who come to George Town seem to have discovered.

Our return to Florida is looming.  We can stay here only a few more weeks and still have Tanya back in time for her midwife to oversee the last 2 months.  I think we’re ready to go in all respects, except one.  It’s friggin’ cold in Florida.  Lows have been in the 30's in Bradenton for the last few nights.  Was winter this cold when we lived in a house and we just didn’t notice, or have the last two been especially bad?  

Here it is in the 70’s pretty consistently.  We’ve figured out that is the charm of George Town.  We’re in the tropics.  That’s why there are 150 boats here now, more arrive every day, and there will probably be 400+ by March.  I’d almost rather be cold than see 400 boats here.  Just kidding.  

I plotted a route back to Tampa Bay the other day and it came to 561 nautical miles.   Man, that’s a long way.  I don’t remember going that far to get here.  It will probably take 3-4 days of non-stop travel to get back.  So far we haven't spent more than one night underway at a time, and we're generally exhausted afterward.  The good news is that the prevailing winds should push us the whole way.

The bad news is that the boat is not set up for the cold weather we'll find when we get there.  We were miserable last winter, running electric space heaters and sleeping upstairs.  We can’t reasonably supply enough power for the space heaters; we'd need to be plugged into a dock to stay warm.  We haven’t been plugged in for over 6 months and we’re not really in a hurry to be again.

We don’t really want to be anywhere it is cold enough that we’d need heaters anyway.  But Florida is proving too cold for us, and we’re not ready to say we’re going to flee Florida every winter, so the boat needs heat.  
Therefore, the first order of business when we get back will be to put in a forced air diesel heater in the main cabin.  It should only use about a gallon a day and will help us cope with the cold when away from the dock.  Replacing the air conditioners might be on the summer project list, and we’ll be sure to put in reverse cycle units to use when we are plugged in.

We’ll still have to put away the bathing suits and get out the long pants and jackets.

I have a new favorite place on Planet Earth. There are many lovely places, of course, and among my favorites are Rocky Mountain National Park, Corkscrew Swamp, the Loire Valley in France, the Mediterranean island of Sardinia, and others too numerous to name. But the current favorite is a small anchorage in Red Shanks off of Crab Cay in the Exumas, near Georgetown. It is the favorite of many “Old Timers,” folks who come back year after year to the Bahamas and have found its quiet beauty and protection from winter blows an enviable spot. Where we were, it is shallow and trickier to get into than some places, so it doesn’t fill up with boats. There was only one other boat near us when we dropped the hook. It also boasts a small but pristine beach at Moss Cay, and is home of the “Red Shanks Yacht and Tennis Club,” of which we have met several card-carrying members.

We were cordially invited by Fred and Elaine, previously of Clearwater, Fl, to join the Red Shanks club members for drinks and hors d-oeuvres one evening. If you are picturing a posh, private clubhouse with folks our parents’ age chatting about golf or tennis, abolish the idea immediately. The “Club” is a sandy beach which barely fits all the members (a couple dozen with standing room only) furnished with a few broken down chairs and a plank table. There may have been a tiki hut there at one point, but a storm has long since blown it down. Meetings are sporadic and can only be held at low tide and before sunset, when the bugs come out. The people are unpretentious and welcoming and the drinks and snacks simple and unassuming. We were greeted by friendly faces and warm welcomes. (Bringing freshly-baked cookies probably helped.) We sometimes tire of answering the same questions, but once the formalities were put aside, we had great conversations that did not necessarily follow the standard formula.

The Red Shanks Anchorage itself is beautiful—with its crystal-clear cerulean water, rocky cliffs topped with a profusion of greenery and palm fronds, small islands and white-sand crescent beaches. We found a little cove into which we tucked for five nights (our longest stay anywhere since Boot Key Harbor), and where we could swim, kayak, and zip to Moss Cay beach, where the kids and I built an enormous sand castle, played in water that looks like a giant swimming pool, and sat around in the shade of the Australian Pines (Casuarinas) reading books. We were also able to get to town by a back route that made the anchorage convenient as well, and I stopped at the Exuma Markets, one of the best grocery stores I’ve seen since Publix.

In fact, the only drawback to Red Shanks was that Jay couldn’t access high-speed internet, so it isn’t a good place for him to work. We are moving the boat today to try to find a protected spot where he can work, but where we don’t necessarily have to be in the middle of a boat parking lot. In the end, I see that we are hard to please. We want seclusion, paradisiacal beauty, protection from unpleasant weather, pristine water, a nice grocery store, a place to meet friends and high speed internet. In short, we want it all. Instead, we will have to settle for a few of those things at a time. Although we are surrounded by folks living the retired lifestyle, we are still young, ambitious and hard-working, so lounging around and exploring every day doesn’t suit us long-term. Jay funds this expedition and I use the internet to educate the crew, so we must find a spot where we can work at least some of the time! And keeping in touch with friends and family is important, too. Since you are reading this right now, you can assume we have found a spot where we can get connected, and maybe even stay awhile.

[01-02-2011]

We saw a lot of the same boats in the Abacos, many of them charters.  The Sea of Abaco is like a swimming pool.  People occasionally get in or get out, but otherwise they just swim around with no particular destination.  The Exumas are like a river and there are only two directions: north or south.  I guess it’s inevitable that packs would form.

At Warderick Wells there is a hill covered with driftwood monuments left by passing boats.  One piece that caught our eye had, along with the boat name, “2004 05 06 07 08 09 10”.  We were struck not only that this boat had returned six years in a row to the same place, but also that he routed his graffiti into a piece of hardi-plank.  Tanya and I have been to several places where we’ve said, “this is nice, let’s come back sometime,” but we never do.

When we got to Staniel Cay we were amazed and dismayed at the number of boats already there.  Our anchorage contained no less than six 100+ foot megayachts.  Apparently Staniel was the place to be for New Year’s.  We later learned that Johnny Depp was in attendance at a pirate-themed party at the yacht club.  Apparently he owns one of these islands, so many of which seem to be private.

That wasn’t quite what we were looking for, so we spent one night, did some shopping, snorkeled in the Thunderball Grotto and moved on.  The chart described Black Point as “an excellent example of a real out-island ‘non-touristy’ settlement”, which sounded promising.  There were six boats anchored at Black Point when we arrived, which was still a bit much.  Up until Warderick Wells we hadn’t shared an anchorage with a single boat, but six was at least better than fifty.

We had an excellent night’s sleep at Black Point, and then went ashore to find groceries and an Internet connection, all rarities in the northern Exumas.  So far when we have found Internet, it has been via satellite uplink, meaning a 44,000 mile round-trip.  The laws of physics prevent this type of connection from ever approaching what we are used to calling “high speed”.  It is also very pricey, and thus well-protected, and we hadn’t previously been able to avail ourselves of it.  We eventually found usable Internet and lunch at a café, which also had a bulletin board absolutely packed with cruisers’ boat cards, a few of which we recognized as friends.  In talking to the proprietress, we learned that she hosts a very popular Super Bowl party.  

It is now dawning on us that the boat card board was another pile of driftwood presaging an inundation of the boats we left behind at Staniel Cay.  When is the Super Bowl?  We don’t know, but we have already lost count of the boats that have arrived today from the direction of Staniel Cay, and there is another group on the horizon.

We now see that we are near a large fleet of boats that are on something of an itinerary.  We heard them on the radio jockeying to reserve moorings in the Land and Sea Park for Christmas.  We saw the whole armada at Staniel Cay for New Year’s Eve, complete with megayacht galleons.  Now we can only assume this place is next for the Super Bowl.

We are not completely anti-social, but we don’t cruise to be a part of any group.  We don’t subscribe to any herd mentality.  We prefer to celebrate holidays by ourselves and in our own way, and we don’t even know who is playing in the Super Bowl.  Finally, we don’t want to compete with these boats for scarce resources like food or sheltered anchorages.

We’re thinking it is better to lead them than follow.  We’re also starting to hatch a plan to return by a different route.  Originally, we assumed we would work down the Exumas to George Town, stay there until time to return, and them work back up the chain, across to Nassau, and then back to Florida.  Now we’ve had the idea to go down the Exumas, then east to Long Island, north to Cat Island, back to Eleuthera, through the Berry Islands, and then to Florida.  That will keep us moving, and give us a broader taste of the Bahamas.

[12-26-2010]

It seems that I was far too hasty in declaring my disdain for George Town.  I now find myself looking forward to it and planning to accelerate our pace in that direction.  The change of heart is due to the weather and the shape of these northern Exuma islands that provide so little shelter from it.  

Over the last five days we have experienced strong winds from every point of the compass.  So far we have moved every single day, and our destinations are not our own choosing but those which provide the best degree of protection.  In truth, we have not moved today and expect to spend a second night in our current location, but only because there is no other place within range that offers better shelter from the sustained 25-30 knots with prolonged gusts higher, even to 40, that we’ve had for the last 24 hours and are forecast to continue through the night.

Protection we do find is never perfect.  We learned this the hard way on our first night in the Exumas, where waves wrapped completely around the island we were sheltered behind to hit us on our beam.  It completely defied logic and made for a frustratingly miserable night.  As a catamaran, we do not roll, but instead suffer from a shorter and quicker motion, like a violent rocking, when hit sideways by these sneaky waves which would otherwise be unfelt if approaching honestly from the bow.

After that experience we select our anchorages even more carefully than usual, and so far have not shared one with a single other boat.  It seems that most cruisers gravitate to the anchorages marked on the charts, which I assume must be based on the prevailing winds, rather than considering the actual forecast.  From where we sit in moderate comfort I can see five masts rolling wildly in an anchorage the chart claims has “all-around protection”, while our location is not mentioned at all.  I have seen only two Exuma anchorages on the charts that meet my definition of “all-around” and they are over 50 miles apart.

The wind is actually the easy part to guard against.  We are receiving excellent forecasts from Chris Parker; by email when we have that and the radio when we don’t.  Wind protection is easy to see by looking at the chart and considering the forecasted direction and any overnight shift.  Protection from the waves is much harder since the forces that shape them are not always visible.  In a perfect world they would proceed straight from the direction of the wind, but it is rarely that simple.  When there is deep water around, one must consider swells that may approach from the direction of a completely different weather system hundreds of miles away.  Then there is the current, which can be considerable, and may prevent a boat from laying into the wind and thus cause it to take otherwise orderly waves on its beam.  But the last, and most insidious factor, is that the shape of an island and its surrounding reefs can very effectively bend waves around into its lee.  I can see a small island with explosions of spray erupting on all sides.

After a week of running from one poor shelter to another, I am tired.  Restful nights have been rare due to uncomfortable motion, concerns about the anchor, and watching for early signs that our position is becoming untenable.  I long for a protected harbor.  I could also wish for the weather to moderate a little.  Right now it is taking a lot of effort to remind myself that this is paradise and I would not find better conditions any place in our wake.