CLASSIC YACHT: IN THE MOMENT

"I check my watch and the wind speed. I wonder if we'll keep this pace, and if the wind will keep a constant breath, if that cloud far off to the east is headed our way. 

Ming's words flutter like tell-tales in the breeze, and I am reminded of the things that matter and the ones that don't."

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"I'll get there when I get there."

It was a simple sentence we heard only six days after leaving our home dock, but their meaning has resonated for three years.

And I am still learning the lesson: how to patiently ride a soft wind, to release the false frenzy of land, and focus on the moment, not the destination.

For the backstory on this column:
The day we fell under Ming's spell: Get There When I Get There
The day we met Ming: The Raft-Up

FULL SAIL

Warderick Wells

It might seem strange to check back in after all this time to tell you we are back in Warderick Wells. We are tucked into the north mooring field for yet another blow, although weather guru Chris Parker predicts this will be one of the last. The glorious trade winds will be settling in allowing us to waft back up the northern Exumas and across to Andros.

Since I last wrote, we sailed to an idyllic anchorage, all alone, behind Little Hall's Pond.

Photo by Chip

We sailed to Sampson to see the sharks.

No, not an aquarium. The marina at Sampson Cay.

To Staniel to snorkel in Thunderball.

To Black Point where our pet remoras hung out below.

Photo by Chip

Black Point was not intended to be our southernmost point, but the winds have shifted south for the season, and we have no interest in beating into them. So north it is with lovely upwind breezes and following seas.

To Compass, to Cambridge and back to Warderick, brought by the wind. That fuel gauge is still in the green.

There can be no complaint about sailing in the northern Exumas, its peek-a-boo water and white sand beaches. Eventually we'll sail across to Andros to finish the season -- and tell about when there's internet.

Spa day in Warderick. Photo by Chip

WARDERICK WELLS

Warderick Wells, Exumas, Bahamas
N 24º 23.843 | W 76º 37.97

Cara Mia has blown into Warderick Wells in the Exumas Land & Sea Park. Pardon the rudimentary map, but we are at the tip of the red arrow. I used up half my internet loading the google map page!

If you search this blog for "Warderick" you can see photos of our previous visits here, one of our favorite stops in the Exumas.

Since leaving Nassau on the 26th, we spent a few days in Rose Island, crossed to Highborne and stopped at Normans and Shroud Cays, all rather remote outposts with no internet.

Our stay in the Bahamas so far has been a game of running from weather. After a good blow tonight, they promise a week of settled weather, which will be a welcome relief from blows and bumpy anchorages.

From the time we left Palm Beach, we have only consumed 24 gallons of diesel, enjoying a season of beautiful sailing. Glorious, brought to you by the wind.

I promise detailed posts with photos once we have a better internet source.

Hope all is well.

Fair winds.

PARADISE UNINTERRUPTED

Warderick Wells, Exumas 24º23.744N | 76º37.925W

Launching from a pristine beach, NOT a swimming pool.

Photo by Chip

The view from my hanging chair -- looking through 12 feet of water.

Photo by Chip

INTRODUCING WARDERICK WELLS

Warderick Wells, Exumas 24º23.744N | 76º37.925W

Looking east from Warderick Wells at a very peaceful Exuma Sound.

When we were in Warderick Wells in February, I was busy hosting our onboard guests and didn't sufficiently introduce you to this spectacular place, so spectacular that we decided to return.

Warderick is park headquarters for 22 miles of protected park land in the Exumas. Visitors can anchor or take a mooring but nothing else. All the plants and animals are off limits.

The mooring field where Cara Mia rests is tucked into the protection of the northern tip of the island.

Northern tip of Warderick Wells, mooring field the arc on the left.

The craggy island, typical of the limestone islands of the Bahamas, is arid but diverse enough to indulge the need to get off the boat and do some hiking.

Or play at the blowholes.

Boys just want to have fun.

Girls too.

The highest point on the island, Booboo Hill, has been adopted by cruisers as somewhat of a graffiti wall. The park allows cruisers to leave their boat name painted on driftwood at the top of the hill, creating a monument to some, an eyesore to others. You make the call:

There are amazing reefs close enough to swim to, happy aquatic creatures lolling about, even under the boat. If there is an idyllic place to enjoy the bounty of the Exumas, this is it.

A shark and its remora hanging out under Jessie Marie.

This enormous lobster is clearly flaunting life in the 'no take' zone.

Cara Mia sleeping in a peaceful Warderick Wells.   Photo by Chip

WORKING BOAT

Warderick Wells, Exumas 24º23.744N | 76º37.925W

Sailing out of Elizabeth Harbor behind Jessie Marie and Katerina.

We've shaken off months of stillness and turned Cara Mia into a working boat again. Sailing out of Elizabeth Harbor with Jessie Marie and Katerina on Wednesday marked the beginning of our northern plod. All three boats stopped at Emerald Bay for free laundry (!) and to pick up Katerina's namesake returning from Canada, then once again set sail for Black Point and beyond.

Our plan all along has been for Chip and I to share the duties onboard, for both of us to know how to do everything. With a crew of two, even a minor incident, like a sprained wrist or seasickness, can leave either of us single-handing.

However, even with the best laid, as we headed south, we fell into "roles," unplanned tasks that we each handled all the time, born in part from survival instinct. Being new to our boat and new to cruising, the learning curve seemed taller than the mast. So, given the choice of learning 10 things or 20 things, we made an obvious if subconscious choice.

We decided that the day we turned to head north, we would swap duties, primarily the roles underway. For docking, anchoring and mooring, Chip has always been at the helm, I have always worked the lines. On the northern trek, we have traded roles.

And now the compass has turned.

Black Point was our first anchoring as rookies, and we both performed beautifully although not quite perfectly.

Today, pulling into Warderick Wells with its tight moorings and narrow channel, I was imagining somewhat of a parallel parking maneuver. I was fully prepared to chicken out, but our mooring ball was between two empty balls, wide open. Our first successful mooring: DONE.

Back on the amazing Bahama Banks.

A NEW CREWMEMBER

Georgetown, Exumas 23º30.9N | 75º45.4W

Our friend John, who now lives in D.C., came for the family regatta, a four-day sailing party (see the last entry). John has long been involved in our dream of cruising, going to the boat show with us and even helping us sand toe rails at one point, so it seems fitting he is the first friend to join us along the way.

With only a five-day visit, we weren't able to sail to other islands, but that did not keep us from using the time fully.

Being parked right in front of the beach bar filled our days with boat- and people- watching, and, in one case, boatplane watching. Volleyball, snorkeling, lolling on the beach, punctuated with dinghy-of-death rides through the regatta gauntlet.

John was a near-perfect guest, taking all our boat-life oddities in stride and being game for anything from getting hosed down by dinghy spray -- repeatedly -- to sitting quietly in the cockpit watching the slow pace of life in the Bahamas.

We laughed and talked and laughed and ate and drank. We played ridiculous games like pick your favorite flag from each page of our flag book, and, a new one John taught us, name your autobiography using phrases that come up in conversation. My favorite: "One Queen Away, The Life of John Herlig."

Five days passed too quickly, so we added another one and used that one right up as well.

BAHAMIAN WINGS

George Town, Exumas 23º30.9N | 75º45.4W

National Family Island Regatta, Georgetown, Bahamas.    ©2011 Tammy Kennon

Bahamians have turned their seafaring and boatbuilding heritage into a grand sporting event. Their beautiful sloops are elegant and graceful vessels, their masts raking the clouds, their puffy sails large enough to challenge credibility. Once used for transportation and cargo delivery, these gracious boats now compete for a national title in an annual event, party actually, in its 58th year.

©2011 Tammy Kennon

The largest class of sloops are shorter than Cara Mia with masts that tower overhead six stories high. Under full sail, they look destined to flip right over in a big puff of wind -- and sometimes they do. As counterweight to the enormous sheet overhead, the crew slides a board way out over the water and perches precariously on it, sliding it the other way when they change direction, out over the water, and the crew clambers out on the other side.

A sloop in mid-tack, the crew shifting the board.

The boats start from anchor, sails down.

When the cannon sounds the crew lifts the anchor while at the same time hoisting the sails. The starting line becomes quite a laundry display.

While the sloops are elegant and silent, slicing gracefully through Elizabeth Harbor, the floating fan base is more like an aquatic demolition derby, darting right up to and sometimes all around the racing boats.

Dinghies (us), small fishing boats, recreational power boats, police boats, kayaks, everything, far outnumber the racing boats. With no proscribed course, the fan boats rush from mark to mark trying to get the best view of the race, everyone looking at the regatta boats and nobody at where they're going. Add dodging boats and riding wakes to the already choppy waters of this harbor and spectating at the regatta becomes something of an extreme watersport of its own.

You spend a lot of your time nervously looking over your shoulder:

The modern thrill of darting through roaring power boats is certainly equalled by the ancient thrill of watching history wing by on a tropical breeze. Breathtaking.

WHERE NORTH MEETS SOUTH

Georgetown, Exumas 23º21.48N | 75º45.94W

Gratuitous shot of the signpost on Chat 'n' Chill Beach in Georgetown.

Of all the things Georgetown means to cruisers -- social center, reprovisioning outpost, guest pickup/dropoff -- it is very much a turning point. No matter what you do after Georgetown, you must turn.

So many people, when asked where they're heading next, heave a big sigh. "Oh, we can't decide."

Some call this "Chicken Harbor," because, theoretically, some are too afraid to keep going south into more challenging waters. For most I don't think that comes into play. The painting is much larger.

Children, grandchildren, aging parents, businesses, property, jobs. There are many reasons to head back home, but for those of us with no jobs, no house, no business, nothing that puts a date on our return, it is a confusing outpost here at the corner of north and south. But when we left North Carolina, in the emotional maelstrom of all the other changes we were undergoing, it was much easier to say, "see you next summer" than heave a weighty, open-ended goodbye. So we promised our ourselves, our families, our kids, our friends, that this first year, we would return.

These last few weeks, goodbyes have loomed up anyway as friends have waved from their boats headed to Cuba, to the Turks and Caicos, to the BVIs and other exotic destinations beyond. It made us ponder leaving Cara Mia somewhere along the southern route and flying home for a good visit, then continuing the migration south on our return. But we made one other promise, to Cara Mia, that we would spend some time and money preparing her for the blue yonder, because, even though she has been there before, we have not. Now that we have some cruising behind us, we need time to reevaluate what we thought was critical, what we thought wasn't, and how the things we put in place are working -- or not. Could be a long summer!

Our next step will be a bittersweet one, as we turn north, our dear friends on Jessie Marie plan to turn south for the Jumentos and Cuba.

In an effort to prolong that goodbye, we've planned a little side trip to Long Island, dipping just below the Tropic of Cancer, the southernmost point on this year's plod in paradise. One last adventure, together.

Sneaking in a renegade yoga class at Monument Beach.

Cara Mia in front of the monument -- I should know to what, but I don't.

Georgetown, the largest town in the Exumas, has a permanent population of 1000.

IT'S NOT IKEA...

Georgetown, Exumas 23º21.48N | 75º45.94W

Today Cara Mia flew under the Swedish flag. It was an international holiday, not by any official decree, but because eight people on four boats declared that today was Swedish Day.

Actually, I think the original idea came from Chip, who I'm pretty sure was angling for some Swedish meatballs, but once the seed was planted, it took root and took over. Given time, and liberty, fun has a tendency to do that.

We used to think the Swedish meatballs at IKEA were so good, until Martin the Viking made the real deal for us. (Strangely enough though, they do not call them Swedish meatballs.) The real, homemade version was spicy, perfectly crispy on the outside, soft and yummy on the inside. Perfect.

We gathered round bleu cheese and ginger cookies, meatballs with lingonberry sauce, herring with mustard sauce, mashed potatoes, Swedish cookies and pickled vodka -- Chip's tasty, homemade version of schnapps.

Since Anna & Håkan and Johanna & Martin already had Swedish names, the naturalized Swedes took on our own: Hanna & Knut, Inga & Blix.

We ate, laughed, listened to Swedish music and sang Swedish beer drinking songs (some of us). We looked at maps of Swedish cruising ground, we learned some Swedish words. And then the Swedes taught us to tango.

Fun has no boundaries.

A beautiful watercolor painted for us by Anna, and our mascots: a moose and a mouse. 

Swedish Key Lime pie? Thanks, Anna!

SUPERMOON! SUPERDUMB!

Georgetown, Exumas 23º21.48N | 75º45.94W

The rare 'supermoon' was also super shy.

They're calling tonight's full moon a supermoon -- something that happens only once in a blue moon (actually longer) -- something about the moon being closer to the earth. Or something. Whatever.

Do you remember that lesson we learned last November on the ICW about full moons and run-call-your-mama low tides? Well, whatever.

Today, on supermoon, supertide day, we chose dead low tide to cross Elizabeth Harbor, shallow at the best of times, and pull up to a shallow all the time dock -- just to fill our water tank.

Why? No, really, I hope you can answer that. Why? I don't know. Something about moons and lunacy perhaps.

It did not help that there were boats anchored in the freakin' channel, all over it. The dockmaster guided us via the VHF -- right into a sandbar.

So we went back and threaded our way through and around the anchored boats and limped up to the dock, then wisely (if you can be wise in the middle of being stupid) stayed tied up until the tide turned.

In the meantime, two of our friends had made the long crossing from the anchorage and into Georgetown in their dinghies. That's one of the tough things about anchoring here: the dinghy ride across the water is loooong -- 20-30 minutes -- and wet. Most of us don foul weather gear, or garbage bags. Johanna from Snowbird just strips right down to her bathing suit in anticipation of the dousing.

So, since we were crossing back to the anchorage in the big, dry boat, we offered them all a lift.

Our rubber dinglings.

One boat, six people, three dinghies, six opinions on anchoring.

Lunacy.

Chip, waiting for the supermoon -- and a shot of vodka.

Elizabeth Harbor from Stocking Island, Georgetown across the water.

New album: The Swedes of Snowbird. Now we just need the music ....