In Comedy, timing is everything... Unfortunately the telling of this tale will not start as others of my recent and not so recent past prescident have set. Why, the estute reader of mine ramblings may ask? Allow me to demonstrate... I lie with a GPS with anchor alarm on, which is slowly drawing little arcs and semi circles like an Etch-O-Sketch in the hands of a caged monkey addicted to nicotene. Kinda not what I expected from a vessel of this size, I mean with that kinda $$ you can hire bikinis, right? BadGirl is chugging out of Highbourne Cay Marina, eliciting Beep Beeps, giggles and but yet another stunning rendition of Donna Summers circa 1977ish classic by the girls, and hippy's have painted the stop signs.....Although all the last prior statements are true, and in order, they mean much more when taken in time and in context, if interested please read on. If not, at least look at the pictures, I did, afterall, take the time to steal them.

Never cruise on a schedule... One would think I would learn my lesson after the debacle which became known as Cruise to Hell with the Ice Princess. But no!! I plan an incredible long weekend in the Exumas with a tried crew on our new boat. Couldn't have been more picture perfect...with of course the possible exceptions that the picture is blurry and that may or may not be someones thumb in it. Charlie commits to go to Christy in the midst of a drunken binge, a commitment that he would later deny. A denial which would reverberate with more conviction upon Tambi getting bumped off herTuesday flight to Andros, destroying her chances of being here for our 2AM Wednesday departure time. Rather than cutting her loose I decide to give her a 10 hour grace period, 'If you can get here by noon Wednesday, you can still go.', A decision which worked flawlessly with Charlie's non commital tendencies, and gave him a more than easy out.

Planes, Train's, Yadda yadda yadda... One train ride, a plane ride, and a ferry ride later, Tambi crawls off the Sealink with 185 miles already under her belt, and onto S/V Moxie which steams out of AUTEC harbor @1150AM. S/V Moxie is a 1968 Pearson 30 which over the course of the prior 48 hours has been provisioned with enough fuel/water/food to sustain 4 souls for 5 days which is indeed our plan. Those 4 souls are:

Geo-Capt
Shelli-First Mate
Christy-Student
Tambi-Pax

10 hours late, minus one Anchor Boy... Our late departure, coupled with 12 kt winds dead on our nose, force us to steaming across the toto in order to make the bank in time to throw a hook around sunset. Sailing would've found us just around the edge of the Toto by sunset and put us throwing a hook around midnight. So, like clockwork, 8 hours after leaving autec harbor, 30 miles from AUTEC, 20 miles from Allen's Cay, we throw a hook. A quite unpredictible hook it turns out to be. Once the anchor is on the bottom, it disappears to our stern, leaving us beam to the wind, and me scratching my head. S/V Moxie eventually figured the whole scene out her nose found the wind in about 30 minutes. Only explaination I could derive is current on the bank, or the Bermuda triangle....who knows.

An anchor with it's own agenda, 3 foot seas, short and steep, and passing boats, all witnessed by the man in the moon. I lie in the cockpit, port side staring up at the mast light which serves the dual purpose of letting other boats know we're on anchor, as well as illuminating my wind indicator. Only real problem is, with the moon being full, approaching vessels may not be able to pick my mastlight out from the thousands of phongs created by the moonlight on an ocean with three foot chop. That's why I lie with a radio ready to hail approaching vessels with my position and intent, as well as a GPS with anchor alarm on which is slowly drawing little arcs and semi circles like an Etch-O-Sketch in the hands of a caged monkey addicted to nicotene. Every time I would wake up to scan the horizon, Christy whom slept(sometimes) on the starboard would usually be up with big eyes looking North toward Nassau where lights would appear, then fade away, and occasionally get closer. The closest boat came within about 3 miles from us. WhenI would repeat this ritual of scanning the horizon I would become completely distracted by the beauty of the moon. Casting sharp bright shadows across our cockpit, and moonbeams streaking through cummulonimbus clouds when her light was blocked. Completely humbling.

2nd verse, same as the first... We wake to the same conditions we met upon leaving AUTEC harbor, 10-12 kt winds on our nose. And with sun dead in our eyes, sailing again proved to be iladvised due to coral heads. So we motor. 4 hours later we are readying to pull into Allen's Cay with, what would appear to be a 150+ foot yacht trying to pull in before us. This confounds me to no end because I know the draft through this channel is only about 12 foot on a good day. As we get closer we realize they were just throwing an anchor, because all souls with 'Y' chromosones were on deck of the M/V BadGirl with binoculars checking out the 'little sailboat' with all the bikinis. Kinda not what I expected from a vessel of this size, I mean with that kinda $$ you can hire bikinis, right? We would later learn that M/V BadGirl is a 186 foot motor yacht for rent for $238,000 a week. Insane money, considering that our trip thus far has cost us 3 ham sandwhiches, 1/4 bag of Frito's, and 6 gallons of diesel.

Fun with Anchors... Dead set on using a two-anchor bahamian moor system, I throw the first, keep motoring into current, throw anchor number two and tighten both scopes looking almost like I knew what I was doing. Post a breakfast of Sausage/Egg/Cheese muffins and Coffee we explore the islands, play with the lizards, meet our neighbors, both local and abroad. A tender from BadGirl comes up with quite a few attractive kids varying in gender, including but not limited to the androgenous. Boats of all shapes/sizes/powers join our anchorage until the number becomes too high to safely count on two hands with a headful of Mai-tais. As the tides change, our boat, being in stronger current than most, starts to change its facing direction. This makes me a little leary because no other boats are doing it, so I grab a CQR anchor, 70 feet of line, dinghy the anchor away from Moxie, throw it, return to the boat, torque the line in, beaming with pride through, and in spite of my intoxication. In the 1/2 hour it takes to accomplish this feat, all the other boats have now been effected by the current and leave our boat in a state that we lovingly grew to call 'floating stupid'.

So say'th the Sheppard... One particularly nasty go-fast cattlebarge filled with enough tourists to approximately equal the 2000 census count of Scratch-Ass Arkansas makes the 20+ mile jump from Nassau to Allen's Cay to show white people with enough scratch what the Bahamas 'used' to be like. Before fat old guys in speedos, underage tarts wearing less than fat old guys, and children chasing lizards with sticks. This entourage will spend the next half hour working together to be an embaressment to their county if not indeed their race. I would feel this sickening sensation and unpatriotistic tendencies until a boatload of French-Canadians would pull up to our Northwest and settle in for the evening. At which point I'm reminded, it could always be worse.

You gonna eat that, eh?... After an amazing steak dinner we settle in. This night differs so vastly from the night prior it's hard to believe we are on the same sea. The waterways betwixt Allen's Cay and Leaf Cay are nearly completely protected from seas, leaving no waves and the slightest breeze, and a near mosuleum quiet and stillness. The only discernable noise heard for 1/2 mile, is the slight dinging of the mastlight wires inside my mast dinging softly from side to side. That is, of course, until a belch breaks all tranquility. Not just a burp, a burp that was 1/2 pound of steak and 1/4 can of baked beans in the making, an omen burp, an oh-my-God burp, the burp that's tinged with blood and says 'mayhaps this time I've gone too far', but most importantly it was a burp that was shortly thereafter followed by 'f*(kin French-Canadians'.

I don't need a weather vane to know which way the wind blows... In the morning, post breakfast and coffee, we pull hooks and decide to leave early for Highbourne Cay. Two small heart attacks later whilst turning 180 degrees in rich current around many 6 figure boats, we indeed begin to make our way to the bank. Only after the 'Just Divine' offer us well wishes and remind us to be safe, which I answer ;We're just going to Highbourne Cay(4 miles south), I don't even think I can screw that up'. To which they reply, 'In that case we'll see you there'. We opt for just the jib which gets us upto 4.0 kts as we round the coral heads and shoals that comprise a large portion of the waterways off the Northwest shores of Highbourne Cay. Beautiful albeit uneventful sail. As we approach our anchorage on Highbourne the BadGirl is chugging out of Highbourne Cay Marina, eliciting Beep Beeps, giggles and but yet another stunning rendition of Donna Summers circa 1977ish classic by the girls.

Who needs opposible thumbs...Highbourne has changed significatly in the 3 years since we've been there. The general store is now much more broad, the restrooms have token-taking showers, University of Miami is studying Stromatolites(?), and hippy's have painted the stop signs. The store is now conveniently located beside the marina, so the walk is now not necessary, but done all the same, because, well, it's Highbourne Cay and a beautiful walk. We hit the store like rabid tourists, dropping a few hundred bucks on shirts, lights, 5200, burgers, ice cream. Before heading back to the boat we visit the fish cleaning table where a boatload of fishermen are cleaning their daily catch, and feeding the scraps to the sharks below. All color drains from a now 2 1/2 day sunburned Christy's face as she watches the couple dozen sharks jockey for position around the carcasses and scraps that hit the water about every 2-3 minutes. She will not get back in the water for the duration of the trip.

Brighter than sunshine... A return trip to the boat greet us with Salty Dogs, Cold Coronas, burgers, then a desire for showers. Dinghying back to the marina we are forced to shower at the outside shower giving the old school pervs on an 80 ft fishing boat aptly named 'Jr' the closest thing they've seen to pornography since they left their home port of Ft. Lauderdale. We then settle in for the night, talking, laughing, counting boats, counting stars, finding the Andromedea Galaxy. Sleep does not come easy this night, due largely to a fascist mook that has two lights on the stern of his boat, either one of which may actually be brighter than the sun. They will shine until roughly 1 hour before daybreak...godless bastard.

Drink'th of his blood... We wake to our now staple of breakfasts on the trip of Sausage/Egg /Cheese muffins and coffee, but in observation of Cinco De Mayo, I put a little hot sauce on mine. Start the engine, raise the main, unfurl the jib and are hitting 4.8kts when we shut the engine down, having never even engaged it, and I start thinking 'maybe I'm getting the hang of this?'. On the way to Norman's Cay I discuss the remainder of our iteneray with a subdued, and content crew. I see us having two options: 1). Hit Norman's, See McDuff's, Drink, have lunch, drink, explore the island, play in the water, drink, cook, spend the night, wake @ daybreak, be home by 8 PM. 2). Same as above, but insert, sail back to Highbourne prior to cooking, omit wake@ daybreak, replace with 'wake @ 0300, set sail, be home by mid-afternoon. We opt for the latter, and prepare to throw hooks. In preperation for our first all stop from full sail, I tell the crew how it should happen and hold my breath. Engine running, readying to engage if necessary, I furl the jib, Shelli ready on the anchor, I nose to wind and drop the main and start securing whilst we slow to a halt. Once we are stopped, Shelli slowly lowers the anchor to the bottom and allows the rode to slowly back us away from our anchor, then 50 feet of scope later and I proclaim, 'Who needs a Charlie, we have this!!'.

Carlos who?... To say the McDuff's has changed is quite the understatement. It went from being a small quaint little island pub, to a 6X larger restaurant/ lounge area. It's name has even changed to Norman's Cay Beach Club @ McDuff's. The new propriator, Stefan, is a native to Norman's Cay, his uncle even helped build the Restaurant that Carlos Leder used during his drug import days for the Medellin cartel. Both he and his girlfriend Beth are great people doing amazing things with one of the most charming, history rich islands in the exuma chain. There's even talk of resurecting the weed-wacker blender from the 'old' days of McDuff's. Exploring around the island finds the remainder or Norman's Cay the way we left it in 04, a little more in a state of disarray, but I guess that's why it's called entropy.

Rain on me... We motor/sail back to Highbourne Cay and hit speeds of 6.4kts and lay the boat over about 20-22 degrees. Throw a hook in the same vacinity where we left roughly 9 1/2 hours prior, and begin making our Cinco De Mayo dinner of Chicken soft tacos, tortilla chips/dip, cold Coronas. Showers all around and we try to sleep as soon as the sun sets to make the 0300 departure time as pain free as possible. A slight sprinkle chases us below deck until just about 930 PM at which point no one has trouble finding sleep.

Wax poetic, through ignorance of what's coming... 0300. Usually would be considered a very late night, or a very early morning. Here with the moon huge and beautiful, and a light 5 kt easterly, it's more than an early morning, or a late night. It's a time which make you feel all is right with the world, and no matter what woe the breaking sun will bring, at least it all started with this awe. We start the engine, prepare all systems, including running lights, GPS, Depth guage, jib, all without need of a flashlight. 15 minutes later we have pulled hook, are motor/sailing @ 5kts with only the jib flying. We take 1 hour shifts each, all taking a shift before the sun indeed rises. For all shifts I have made a grid which the helmsman is responsible for filling out every 15 minutes. the grid includes 'Time, Engine water temperature, Oil pressure, Dinghy condition, heading. Mostly just to get them in the habit of checking on the dinghy, but secondarily, because it's not a bad idea to be aware of the engine condition.

Around sun-up, I wish to go below to nap. I opt to furl the jib before I do so, since the winds have truely dropped to zero. Upon furling, I go fore and pull the furling line which turns the drum and spins the sail around the headstay. Well, that's how a working furler does it. This one jams, so I force it, still nothing. Then I realize the jibsheet is still on the winch to port. I tell Shelli to release the jibsheet, she does, I continue furling. Not aware that the torque I put on the drum has damaged the unit. I would not be aware of it until about noon when I feel the slightest breeze coming over our starboard beam. Whence I try to unfurl said sail, it again jams, I again force it, it comes undone, I fall on my ass, and the furler drum(with my headstay connected to it) happily bounces across the deck of my boat. Passing by the bow hatch where Shelli is getting dressed, so she says to the rest of the boat, 'um, I think there's something wrong'. Some almost panic-free moments later, the anchor rode is chaining the forestay to the deck and we are again underweight. Only now it's slightly depressing, since I know our 'sailing' is over for this trip, with the integrity of the rigging compromised using the mainsail is even out of the question. Such is life.

Within 1/2 hour of losing our furler we can start to see High Cay and then Andros proper on the horizon. Knowing we are still 2 1/2 hours out it's no surprise that the winds indeed begin to pick up to a beautiful 10 kts from the North. A beam reach. A beam reach which would've made for a beautiful return sail. A beam reach that killed me to motor through. A beam reach that made us steam into the harbor with our collective tails betwixt our legs. Luckily once we get on our hook the winds were still light enough to enable me to get a better look at my furler. It's very old and has cryptic writings on it which lead me to believe it may have actually been made by the Mayans.

Time to put this tale to rest, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed living throug, than writing about. In closing I guess there's many lessons to be learned, like: There's currents on the bank; More anchors are not the answers to 'floating stupid'; Hot sauce and mexican food are not the best choice with 4 digestive tracks on a small boat for five days; and mosly, the old adage, 'if it jams, force it, if it breaks it needed replacing anyway' may sound good, but when it costs you pride, and happiness (not to mention $1500.00), is it really worth it?