A Sail of Two Idiots (13 page)

Finally a Canadian from a nearby trawler zoomed out in his dinghy and commiserated with us. He agreed that these were not good anchoring grounds. Google “Green Turtle, Bahamas” and you'll likely get dozens of hits from boat bloggers talking about anchor dragging there. So the Canadian motored around until he found what looked like a good spot and waved us over. Based on his advice, we did things a little differently from what Captain Tim had told us to do. This time we hoped we were set. We asked if we should put out another anchor (a Bahamian anchor), but the Canadian thought we were fine—he was using only one anchor.

Back to chores. The head (bathroom) light had quit working (loose wire), and the holding tank in the other hull's head had started to overflow into the bilge (a little trough
inside
the boat that catches excess water/oil/poo)—can you say P.U.? Michael handled that emergency, and I
really
owed him one after that. Gross.

Later, we saw a fellow pull up near us in his catamaran and proceed to put out two anchors. About a half hour after that, our Canadian friend also put out a second anchor. Hmmm. We tootled over to the catamaran and said “whassup?” (you know, sailor-speak). A stronger cold front was on the way, we were told, which meant higher winds. We wanted two anchors out too, so a couple of nearby boaters helped us learn how to do a forked moor, an anchoring method that uses two anchors set approximately 45 degrees apart—or at wider angles up to 90 degrees from the bow—so that you face right into the strong winds. We dropped the first anchor the usual way and then set a second anchor approximately a half scope (chain length) away from the first one on a line perpendicular to where we thought the wind would be coming from. You can do all this from your big boat, but we cheated by putting the second anchor in our dinghy and dropping it from
there.
Jacumba
was then lying between the two anchors, and we hoped that the load was being taken equally between them. We organized anchor watches—Michael would watch until midnight and I'd take us til dawn (not typical; most do shorter stints)—and even figured out how to turn on our chartplotter's anchor alarm.

The nasty winds never materialized, but we did learn something new. The harbor had gotten crowded when boats came in to take shelter. Winds, tides, and currents cause boats to shift. If you have 40 feet of chain out and your neighbor has 100 feet (or even 200 feet), there could be problems.

Every morning you come on deck and see that everyone has shifted as though some eerie ballet has taken place during the night. Some boats have drifted a little too close for comfort. To make things even more interesting, monohulls swing differently from catamarans, which swing differently from trawlers, trimarans, and any other floating contraptions.

Maybe harbors should set aside sections for each type of boat so we're not all clunking together. Or how about if the harbormasters post a sign dictating the maximum length of chain you can let out? No? Well, a cruiser can dream.

With a break between weather systems, it was time to do more chores. We tracked a water leak to the galley sink, put snaps on all the cushions so they wouldn't blow away, and finished replacing the carpet. Well, we tried to finish the carpet, but the glue wouldn't stick. And then the alternator bracket on one of the engines broke (reducing us to one engine). My nerves were becoming as frayed as that old mooring line.

We absolutely needed to get off the boat for a while. It occurred to us that we hadn't seen much of the island. Any of it actually. We'd been anchored or moored there for days. How had that happened?

We remedied this by following a trail to a beautiful beach on the ocean side of the island. Once there, I broke into tears. The beach was breathtaking. Boy, had we needed this. Well, I know
I
did. Between bad weather, anchoring, and boat chores, we had forgotten why we were there. This was supposed to be fun!

We had a great day on the island, hiking and stopping for a couple of Kaliks (local beer). When we went back to get our dinghy, we found that it had floated under the dock and the tide had come in, trapping the dinghy under there. While Michael was leaning over to examine the situation, he flipped into the water with a big splash. We both went into a fit of laughter. Thanks, Mikey—I needed that!

While we were laughing as we wrestled to loosen the motor and pull the dinghy out from under the dock, a guy, also laughing, came over and introduced himself. Robbie and his girlfriend, Jamie, had sailed to Green Turtle on
Kawshek
from the United States five years before and had never left. They were living on their boat and knew everyone and all the businesses in the northern Abacos. We realized then that we had hit the mother lode. Not only were Jamie and Robbie nice people,
they could help us get our dinghy carburetor fixed, help us with our alternator bracket, and take us to Marsh Harbour and show us where the great stores were. Friends. We were making friends!

With constant cold fronts coming through, sea conditions didn't allow us to leave Green Turtle, so a resource like this was priceless. Robbie introduced us to other Green Turtle squatters (once boaters find a place they like, a lot of them stay), who taught us things like how to use the pressure cooker that had been gathering dust on our boat, how to cook beans in the sun, and how to cure seasickness naturally. More invaluable information. More friends!

One of the best tips we learned was how to do laundry with ammonia instead of detergent in order to use less water! Fill a bucket with water, put in a half cup of ammonia, and throw in your clothes. Soak, agitate, scrub, and hang on lifelines. Done. The ammonia (and smell) evaporates, leaving clothes clean and fresh. Because there's no need to rinse, you save precious water. Although we always tried to find a place on land to wash our sheets, we started doing most of our clothes using the bucket method to save money. Thanks, Jamie!

Cold fronts brought not just rain, high winds, and high seas. They brought
cold
. And I'm not talking “we're wimpy” cold. Windchills were in the 40s. We could see our breath on the boat. This was not a welcome development, particularly because we didn't have any sweaters, heat, or blankets. We used our oven every once in a while to heat the boat, but we didn't want to run through all our propane.

Once again other boaters came to the rescue with blankets and sweatshirts. The fact that all those folks knew enough to have this stuff on their boats meant that such cold weather was normal for the northern Bahamas. Take it from me, if you go to the Abacos Islands in winter (November through March), bring cold-weather gear. You can always donate it when you leave.

We did find a small plug-in heater in a closet, but it used so many amps that we decided to cuddle instead (although that would have been more effective had we had any warmth to share).

Eight days after our first dragging incident came yet another windy weather system. We weren't worried because we were still set up from the storm that wasn't. But that night (LESSON 13, Be afraid), we jumped up when we heard someone
yelling on the VHF, trying to rouse the people on a powerboat next to them that they were dragging.

The powerboaters clearly did not heed this lesson about staying tuned and slept blissfully on. That's when another boater broke out what looked and sounded like a kazoo. That didn't work either. While watching this debacle in the making, we happened to turn around and saw that
we
were dragging—backward and onto another boat (slowly, thanks to the anchors catching on the grass). Not one but two anchors dragged this time (the dragging motorboat also had two anchors out).

I shook my fist at the anchor gods! Both lines were taut, as they were supposed to be. We had 60 feet of heavy chain out (in 9-foot-deep water) and had put engine pressure on them to make sure they were dug in and holding. We had even asked the Canadian guy to look through his Plexiglas-bottomed bucket to confirm by sight that the anchors (a CQR and a Fortress) had been set. I mean, really. What else could we have done?

Remember that we had to deal with this on only one engine because of the broken alternator bracket on the other engine. It was dark, the air temperature about 45 degrees, a north wind blowing in our face, and we had two anchors to bring up. We'd then have to make our way to the mooring that saved us the last time and hope for the best.

Things pretty much went down like the last episode, with me fighting to get forward motion on the boat to take the pressure off the anchor lines and Michael struggling with the bridle, except that we had one engine and two anchors this time. I had the engine at full throttle as I shoved the other boat off our stern with my feet (I didn't have time to run forward for fenders).

Meanwhile Michael was desperately trying to get the anchors up. The first one, not on the anchor windlass, finally rose from the depths, only to have so much mud and grass on it that he couldn't lift it over the bow. I needed to run forward and help Michael get the extra weight off the anchor, but I also had to keep us off the other boat. Help!

Da Ta Da Da! Our guardian angel in the form of Robbie came to our rescue. He really should have worn a cape. Robbie was like the harbor guardian. He knew when boats came and went and kept an eye on everyone. He had heard all the commotion and had thrown himself into the throng. Once he was able to waken the motorboat folks (a whole other scene playing out), he raced over to us. He used the humongous engine he had on his modified dinghy to push us off the boat behind us. He continued acting as our engines, straightening us out and keeping us steady.
I was then able to grab a pole, run forward, and push the goop off the anchor. Poor Michael had to hold that heavy anchor, heavy chain, and heavy mud while I was banging on it. Eventually we hauled up both anchors (the second one was on the electric windlass and was much easier to raise).

Now all we had to do was get to an empty mooring. Robbie knew all the mooring owners, so he knew which moorings could be used and had us follow him.

Of course,
Jacumba
wanted to go in only one direction (where the one operating engine wanted to take us). Under normal conditions, speed would allow me to overcome the circular steerage, but because of the winds and current, I couldn't get that kind of speed, so we just spun around (more horsepower would have come in handy—LESSON 21, Bigger is better).