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

CRUISERS, GIVE IT UP!

Lorraine's Cafe is a tiny restaurant in Black Point catering to cruisers, a restaurant so small, you have to radio in a reservation if you want to eat dinner. If you go there, you will be served by Lorraine, who then goes in the back, cooks the food, and brings it out to you. You will meet her children and buy amazing coconut bread from her mom who bakes it in the house behind the restaurant where they all live.

The family has two computers, a printer and wifi for cruisers as an enticement to bring in business during their fleeting 3-month season when their only customers anchor in the cove near the government dock.

There's a note on the wall at Lorraine's politely asking cruisers to contribute $3 when they use the computers. The sign states that some boaters were using the facilities all day without even buying a soda.

It's a pitiful refrain along cruising grounds, small businesses trying to make a living; cruisers stealing from them. So many businesses have posted lists of rules, rules obviously a response to repeated inconsiderate action.

SHOWERS $5 -- NO SHARING
COUCHES FOR PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY
FREE WATER: FOR DRINKING ONLY, LIMIT 5 GALLONS (We actually saw a guy filling a 40-gallon, soft tank from the free water in Georgetown.)

Why do you think there are NO paper towels in any of the bathrooms in these remote spots? I couldn't bear to ask, because I'm sure I know the answer: cruisers steal them.

While most cruisers we've met are delightful and inspiring people, a community I'm pleased to call my own, this dirty underbelly makes me ashamed.

Come on, cruisers! I know you're trying to get the most out of your cruising dollar but that does not entitle you to steal from these sweet people who are our hosts, these people who have so few alternatives for making a living, a hardscrabble one at that.

I know some of you fancy yourself anarchists, but anarchy is abandoning government, a system, not your fellow humans. Decency calls upon us to treat each other with respect, even more so those who have less than we do.

Stop stealing.

Start giving.

It will come back to you, to all of us -- either way.

LEAVING BLACK POINT

Black Point, Exumas 24º6.04N | 76º24.12W

This was our first experience of a true Bahamian community and the sweet, sweet spirit of those who live in it. Where everyone, including the smallest children and sulkiest teens will greet you as you pass, where the ladies call out to you in the evening as they sit on the front porch weaving baskets, where you can walk right into the kitchen to buy their coconut bread -- and play with the grandkids while you're there.

After eight days, we will reluctantly be leaving tomorrow, headed south for Cave Cay.

Chip serenading Lorraine with the Lorraine Blues, made up on the spot.

The eastern, ruggedly beautiful side of Great Guana Cay.

Dale showing off fresh bounty from the sea.

Dale teaching Chip to do a three-strand splice.

REWARD FOR A JOB DONE

Black Point, Exumas 24º6.04N | 76º24.12W

Whoa. That's a lot of sail.

A looming blow raised that ripped jib to the top of the TO DO list this week.

The last time we had removed the jib from its furler, things went a little south, or not, when it wouldn't come down easily, and the wind whipped it into a bit of a clatter (perhaps loosening that seam that finally came loose?). The problem with that failed dropping was user error -- on my part. Lesson learned, this time it dropped like the barometer before a hurricane.

We gathered it on deck and hauled up the sewing machine, my friend, my enemy.

Since we are not plugged in to shore power, we had to employ the hand-crank option. Chip volunteered to crank while I wrangled that cloud of sail through the tiny foot of the machine.

Chip has very little experience with sewing and didn't understand the rules.

1. The machine will malfunction at some point
2. The bobbin will always run out, usually on the last 6 inches of the last seam
3. A seam ripper is equally as important as the machine

Crank, crank, crank. "Stop." Adjust, adjust, adjust.

"Go."

Crank, crank, crank. "Stop." Adjust, adjust, adjust.

"Go."

We did this, hunched over the sewing machine, for about three hours with breaks for machine malfunctions (tension weirdness), human malfunctions, thread breaking, and lunch, finally reaching the last 12 inches of the seam when, of course, the bobbin ran out.

Then the needle broke.

We had to leave the last 8 inches of seam unsewn, because the bottom corner of the sail (the clew) is shored up with 5 or 6 layers of thick sail fabric, several layers more than the machine can manage. Sigh. 

I could try sewing it by hand, but we need to have the sacrificial cloth (the stuff that ripped) replaced this summer anyway, so I'm taking a chance.

The sail went back into place effortlessly, (!) and as we were cleaning up, I went below, just in time to hear:

"Cara Mia. Cara Mia. This is 5th Element."

It was our friends from home, Wes and Snow, pulling into OUR harbor.

One too short evening of catching up before they headed north, toward home. Two ships passing -- happily -- for one night!

Happy reunion with Wes and Snow.

5th Element and Cara Mia

SIGHTS OF BLACK POINT

Black Point, Exumas 24º6.04N | 76º24.12W

Baby mangoes.

Boat in progress.

Ladies room @ Willie's.

Is it still a Prickly Pear when there are no prickles?

Papayas.

THROUGH WILLIE'S EYES

Black Point, Exumas 24º6.04N | 76º24.12W

In my imagination, the Garden of Eden is a mythical, magical, mystical place where the fertile ground erupts with bounty to feed the body, greenery to nurture the eyes, dappled shade from overhead, velvety green grass underfoot, everything needed to survive and thrive.

In Black Point, a faded, handpainted sign along the road says 'Garden of Eden,' pointing the way to an even more bedraggled entrance, an entrance to what at first appeared to me to be a bunch of dead sticks.

Garden of Eden entrance.

Then I met the gardener, Willie Rolle, a local celebrity of sorts, well covered in the cruising blogosphere.

"How did you start collecting these 'sculptures'?" I asked.

"Oh, I got the idea from the clouds," he replied in his thick Bahamian brogue, explaining how we all look at clouds and see fanciful things, an elephant to me might be a motorcycle to you.

Willie took us on an enchanted tour of his sculpture garden -- all driftwood found on his own property -- enchanted, because a tall arcing stick under a wave of Willie's hand would reveal itself as a graceful ballerina.

A roaring lion, a playful puppy, a beautiful lady washing her hair. In a rock on the ground, he conjures George Washington, and in the moment Willie's spreading his magic dust, I see ol' George too. And every time one of us sees what Willie sees? He giggles with utter delight.

But now, without Willie by my side, the magic gone, I look back at my photos and see, not lions or ladies, but a bunch of driftwood stuck in stone, black and white and barren.

Willie, what IS it?

Gardener? Sculptor? Artist? Wizard? Madman? I guess that just depends on whose eyes you're looking through.

THE LAW OF KINDNESS

Black Point, Exumas 24º6.04N | 76º24.12W

Looking west from Regatta Point in Black Point.

After weeks of tooling around on deserted islands and those barely inhabited, we have landed in Black Point rumored to have a population of less than 200, but still the second largest town in the Exumas after Georgetown.

My first experience of this kind gathering of Bahamians came on our first day at anchor. I've been carrying a wifi antenna for our friends Mike and Rebecca on Zero to Cruising since Miami, expecting to catch up with them in the Exumas before they head south, but because of our hapless dawdling that is looking doubtful.

Black Point post office.

"Black Point anchorage. I'm looking for a boat heading for Georgetown that is willing to carry a small package to another boat there. Please hail Cara Mia."

Immediately a Bahamian man hailed and asked me to switch channels.

"Go to the government dock and ask for Officer Kevin Rolle. He is leaving in an hour and will help you out."

The friendly guy who greeted us at the dock turned out to be Officer Rolle himself. He was not only willing to take the antenna but seemed delighted to do so, promising to hand it off to Elvis in BarreTerre who would then take it to Georgetown and hail Mike on the VHF.

Me and Officer Kevin Rolle.

As Mike reports from the other end, Elvis, who is the Elizabeth Harbor Harbormaster, is alive and well in Georgetown -- and so is the Bahamian Kindness Network. Good, good souls here.

OH SHEET

Black Point, Exumas 24º6.04N | 76º24.12W

Anchorage at Black Point Settlement on Great Guana Cay.

Sailing is a humbling occupation offering infinite ways to challenge, confound and embarrass yourself. It's like the first day of school or a new job -- every day -- rife with new opportunities to prove you're an amateur. It is not possible to be bored, because you're waiting to see what will go wrong next.

Today's forecast called for 10-12 knot winds from the northeast, dropping and shifting to southeast mid- to late afternoon. We left Sampson for a short, less than 10-mile, hop to Black Point just before 9 a.m. to take advantage of favorable winds.

Leaving the anchorage we headed southwest-ish looking resplendent flying the main and jib side by side in my favorite point of sail, wing on wing.

As we turned south around Sandy Cay, it was apparent that the wind was already shifting to the southeast, which would be, of course, right in our face on the next turn. We headed out into the Exuma Banks hoping to be able to tack back toward Black Point once we passed Harvey Cay, sailing the whole way.

We never saw the predicted 10-12 knots, rather 15 at first soon picking up to 20+ with squalls on the horizon ahead. Chip was thrilled to find he could get Cara Mia moving at almost 8 knots despite my complaints about weather helm.

This concludes the peaceful portion of the sail.

Next we had a fight about, well, we're not really sure. That's how those married fights go.

Then we decided to reef, using our new, untried reefing rig.

When we turned into the wind, the jib got away from us, flapping like a coop full of scared hens and just as noisy. The jib lines got all twangled, around themselves and in the standing rigging. You don't really notice how much stuff there is overhead on a sailboat until it all starts weaving itself around each other. That took some time to wrestle under control.

Then the new reefing ring kept coming off the new horn that was supposed to hold the now-smaller sail in place. Put it back on. It comes off again. Repeat.

Everything finally started working harmoniously, just as the wind dropped down below 10 knots right outside Black Point harbor.

That's when I noticed the the entire back seam of the jib had ripped out while it was flapping in the wind.

If you look closely, you can see
 the leech line dangling behind the jib.

We pulled in the sails and humbly dropped anchor in Black Point, happy that our boat performs flawlessly even when we don't.