Time To Go
It’s just before 7 am, and I have been watching the sun slowly make its appearance over Elbow Cay. The first light was a deep pink, and now the sky is all shades of orange as the sun is starting its climb. It’s going to be a beautiful day in the Abacos, even if the wind will be on the light side. It’s nice to have such a good one see me on my way back to the United States.
I’m anchored just south of Marsh Harbour, in the southeast lee of Great Abaco Island. I came here two days ago from Hope Town to ride out one final cold front. Eighteen other boats joined me, and it was a good choice. Winds strengthened from the southwest, then clocked west and northwest as the front passed. There weren’t many squalls, and no thunder and lightning thankfully. But there was a blast of wind behind the front, blowing in the 20s from the north, gusting to 30.
It was all fine. With Great Abaco close by, there was not enough fetch for any real wind waves. My ground tackle proved solid and I slept fine, because I could drag for miles before I hit anything (and I had an anchor alarm set in any case). After a week at the Hope Town Inn and Marina is was nice to be back on the hook, away from all the sports fisherman that loomed over Laughing Gull on all sides. Their crews were friendly, but I can’t think of any vessel that burns 100 gallons an hour, and can bunker 1600 gallons of fuel, as anything other than a climate anachronism and soon-to-be stranded asset. Good luck to them. Their era is coming to a close.
My Bahamas sojourn is also coming to a close. I’ve been here two months, and it has been a revelation of interesting cays, beautiful hues, clear water and interesting sea life. But I won’t miss the steady procession of fronts and shallow water. I have one more cut to run, to pass from the shallow Abaco Sea to the deep Atlantic, and I can’t wait to be back off soundings, with no worries about how many inches might be below my keel.
Man O’ War Channel, which will be my exit, is a good cut in most weather. But following the front, and thanks to a low well out in the Atlantic, there has been a decent northeasterly swell. Two days ago a tug and barge were swept onto one of Man O’War’s reefs. I may find some pretty steep seas, hopefully not breaking, as I make my escape. As I drank coffee, I watched on AIS as a sailboat passed through an hour ago, and called them up on the VHF. The skipper said there were some six-footers, but no breaking waves. Just one more Bahamas feature to get the heart rate going before settling into a 360-mile solo passage back to Brunswick, Georgia.
A year ago, a singlehanded voyage of that distance, and across the Gulf Stream, would have given me pause. But I am getting comfortable with LG, and feel like she will keep me company while keeping me safe, so I don’t really feel like I will be alone. Plus, the weather forecast looks pretty good. If anything I might have to do more motoring than sailing, which has me triple-checking my estimates of diesel onboard and regretting that I still don’t have accurate fuel gauges. If my calculations are correct, I will be fine. If not, there is a chance things could get interesting.
I won’t starve, but my food stores are in a similar state of marginality. I have a few apples, a cabbage, and some lettuce, but that is it for produce. And all the dried goods and cans I packed into the lockers before leaving West Palm Beach are running low. Thankfully, I still have plenty of coffee and oat milk to put in it, so the vital stores are solid. I also have a lot of ramen noodles, just in case. But hopefully things won’t get that desperate. Creative cooking with whatever is left on hand is a good way to pass time on an ocean, and if I really get ambitious I may even try and bake my first loaf of bread.
The voyage should take about two and a half days. Instead of anxiety, I feel eagerness to be out on the deep ocean again, making miles, getting into a rhythm with LG, and pondering the mysteries of life and the universe as I stare at the horizon. There are few places more peaceful and contemplative than on a small sailboat traversing a vast ocean. Especially solo. Uh-oh. Maybe it is starting to get addictive.
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I'm enjoying traveling along with you.
Safe travels and harbors, Tim.