bahamas – Have Wind Will Travel

Queen’s Bath Recovery: “Dat a Bit Big Dere”

September 27, 2020anniedike

2020 … what can we say? So many weird, scary, painful, odd things have happened to us this year, it’s hard to believe. I had planned to finish up this Queens Bath saga weeks ago and then … Sally stalled, turned, strengthened and before we could respond or believe it, an unexpected, vicious Cat 2 hurricane ripped through Pensacola destroying our marina. So many friends lost their beautiful boats that day. We went from worrying about a tropical storm to trying to identify boats from their hulls or masts sticking out of the water. It’s been heartbreaking here for the boating community. But, somehow, inexplicably (although I will share many posts here trying to explain it), s/v Plaintiff’s Rest miraculously survived. This is how we found her as soon as Phillip and I could hike our way to the marina Wednesday morning, September 16, 2020.

She is one of only two boats who remained in their same spot with their docks intact. The remainder of the docks on Palafox broke up entirely and beat and bashed their way to the north end of the marina.

I have shared more photos here on Facebook so you can see how we fared. We have rudder damage and some serious bangs and gouges, for sure, but our baby girl is floating, she’s hauled out, and repairs have begun. That’s more than we can say for many in our area who are, right now, making the immensely painful decision of whether to repair or retire their beautiful vessel. But, we have all pulled together and we do feel incredibly lucky. Plaintiff’s Rest will sail again!

Now, since we’ve overcome that horrendous event, let’s share another. What else could 2020 possibly bring but the funkiest injury I’ve ever endured. Buckle up folks, it’s time to get … funky. This leg wound of mine took some interesting turns while mending up. Warning: If you don’t want to see open scabs and big weird wounds, feel free to read a text-only version here. But, for those of you who LOVE to see weird things (like me!) read on and know that now, a good eight months after this injury, I am fully healed, fully functional, with a leg not near as freaky as it once was, and with just a somewhat-noticeable scar to prove I survived this whole ordeal. I’ll also share our experience seeking medical care in the Bahamas—not anything Phillip or I had done before—and how that compared to medical care in the States.

December 1, 2019:

I’m sitting on a rock by the Blue Sapphire Hole which is beckoning me to jump in, but I can’t. I’ve got a heart rate that is through the roof, beads of sweat popped out on my forehead (although I feel cold), and a rock hard thigh the size of a watermelon I’m not even sure I could or should swim or climb with.

When Phillip finally saw (or I should say I finally revealed to Phillip) the size of my leg after I was rolled on the rocks by a rogue wave at Queen’s Bath, he shut our whole excursion in Eleuthera down. Phillip stopped at a small grocery store to get ice for my leg. They didn’t have any ice for sale at the time, so he improvised and grabbed a couple bags of frozen corn which I plopped on my melon-thigh as he drove us back to the ferry that would take us back to our boat in Spanish Wells. After an awkward hokey-pokey (right leg in, right leg out) attempt at a shower, Phillip sat me down in the saloon to assess and doctor my wounds and take the first round of photographs in case we needed to send them to a doctor for advice/treatment. This was my status the afternoon of the event:

While I had a series of scratches on each chin, my hips, and ankles, it was clear my face and right thigh wounds were the worst. While my thigh was painful, a dull, deep ache, it wasn’t in any way unbearable. It hurt a bit to walk, and I think running would have made me yelp, but I was grateful my leg was mostly functional. I believed at the time time that I had not broken any bones and I was incredibly pleased with that. As it was after 5:00 p.m. by the time we got me cleaned up and worked over and I was, by all accounts, injured but totally fine, we lubed my wounds and wrapped my leg with an ACE bandage and decided to call the clinic there in Spanish Wells as soon as possible the following morning.

I spoke with a “Nurse Gibson” who was super friendly and attentive. This was our first encounter, however, with the Bahamian perception of the Queen’s Bath versus how unknowing tourists see it. While we thought we were visiting an idyllic site where “natural pools are filled with crystal clear water, warmed by the sun, and perfect for soaking,” when I told Nurse Gibson I was injured at Queen’s Bath, she immediately piped up with an “Ahhh … you are lucky. Many people go and do not come back from dere.” I didn’t even have to explain what happened, she already knew a wave had rolled me.

I told her I had a rather large lump (swelling I thought it might be?) that had formed at the greatest point of impact as well as multiple cuts and lacerations elsewhere but our primary concern was my leg. Nurse Gibson asked about signs of infection, of which I had none, and she confirmed I did not have any deep or open wounds that were actively bleeding. After that she told me what had formed on my leg was a hematoma that would simply have to be absorbed by the body over time (like a bruise). It is not something they typically drain. It started to sound like there was nothing Nurse Gibson could do for me, which got me a little nervous. While I don’t, in any way, love going to the doctor (I’m quite stubborn about it), I do love the peace of mind you get when you’re worried and unsure about some troubling symptoms or unknown condition and a doctor looks you over and says “No, you’re fine, it’s just X. Not a big deal.” I didn’t want a simple phone call to be the end of it.

“Maybe I could just pop in to be sure, or send you a photo of it, perhaps. Would that be okay?” I asked Nurse Gibson.

“Sure, send me a picture,” she replied, which I did to the cell number she gave me while she put me on hold. Phillip and I sat, staring at my phone on speaker on the saloon table, wondering if what was going on inside my leg was “not a big deal,” or something that might need draining or surgery, or who knows what.

Tick. Tock. It felt like an hour. It was probably a minute and a half. Nurse Gibson came back on and said:

“Dat a bit big dere.”

It is a quote Phillip and I have used many times since to describe both my leg and anything “a bit big dere.” After viewing the photos, Nurse Gibson said she wanted me to come to the clinic so she could have a look. Phillip and I immediately packed our party up and shuffled over to the clinic a few blocks away. I could walk on it just fine. It wasn’t 100% comfortable, mind you, but it was doable. This “Public Clinic” is the clinic we went to.

If Nurse Gibson was surprised when she saw my wound in person, she hid it well. She pushed around a few spots and did say it was the largest hematoma she had ever seen. But, she was pleased that it did not have any heat or other signs of infection. She wanted me to get an x-ray to make sure I had not broken my leg and to make sure the hematoma wasn’t putting unwanted pressure on something or was not likely to cause any other problems. Nurse Gibson advised with the risk of infection from re-opening the wound to drain it, it would be better to allow my body to simply re-absorb the blood over time. I saw her on Monday, December 2, 2019 and she scheduled me for an x-ray appointment on Wednesday, December 4, 2019 at a facility across the road from her clinic.

It was about that time Phillip and I started talking about leaving the boat for a bit and flying home to Pensacola, FL. While we’d had a friend (shout-out again to BaBaLu!) who had ordered us up a new fresh water pump for our Westerbeke 27A immediately after ours failed during our attempt to sail to the BVIs, it seemed the shipping was going to take several weeks to get curried through Nassau and out to Spanish Wells. And even that was no guarantee. With our boat busted, and Captain Annie banged up, hobbling, and in need of x-rays, many signs were pointing us toward home to take some time to heal, work, and make a new decision for hurricane season 2020. (And, with hindsight we thankfully now know flying home was the absolute right call as our pump shipment saga is an entertaining story in and of itself. It took us months to get that pump … just you wait!). Phillip called Delta the next day, Tuesday, December 3, 2019 and booked our flights home that Saturday, December 7, 2019.

Although I went to the x-ray facility in Spanish Wells on Wednesday at the time Nurse Gibson advised, there was a note on the door that said “Closed this week.” This is not at all surprising for the Bahamas. They operate on “island-time.” The thought that a business might be open this week and closed the next (for no apparent reason) is a completely normal occurrence there. There was nothing I could do about it. And, at that time, we did not suspect any broken bones, nor was my hematoma causing me any issues. While my leg was certainly starting to bruise up nicely, that didn’t bother me. My main issue then (and this would continue for weeks) was keeping my leg wrapped in a way that didn’t pull the scab off of my wound every time I removed the dressing or that wasn’t too wet/moist to allow a scab to form. This white pussy patch was a problem area for a while. I can’t tell you how many times I re-opened it. Yuck.

Phillip and I just decided I would go get x-rays as soon as we got home to Pensacola. Other than my thigh wound, I seemed to be healing alright and I was roughly 75% functional. (I wasn’t going to be doing any swimming any time soon with my open wound or any rigorous physical activity that would bounce my hematoma painfully around, but that was tolerable.) But, it was during those last days in Spanish Wells that I entered my strange “Avatar phase.”

The impact site on my forehead puffed up and the bridge of my nose flared out. It sure hurt to sneeze or blow my nose during that time, but I still thought it was just a reaction to the impact (not a fracture). But, over the course of the next few days whatever fluid had accumulated in my forehead started to drain out into my eyes causing weird puffiness and bruising around my eyes, almost like someone had punched me in the nose and given me two black eyes. I guess someone did. The Queen!

I swear I looked just like an Avatar.

My close friends and family, whom I had told about my injuries (it wasn’t many), got a real kick out of seeing these photos. And, I was glad we could all laugh about it because thankfully I was still HERE, walking my Avatar-self around Spanish Wells, and not washed up ashore somewhere on the Atlantic coast. While Nurse Gibson only gave us a glimpse of the Bahamians’ opinion of the Queen’s Bath, the many, many locals I encountered during our last days there, who often asked what had happened to me, gave us the low-down, dirty truth about the Queen’s Bath.

“Ahhh … what ‘appened to you?” they would ask.

“I got rolled by a wave at Queen’s Bath,” I would tell them. These are just a few of the verbatim responses we got:

“Ooohh many have died there. One guy wanted to propose there and he was taken by a wave right before he proposed. His body was never found.”

“Uhhh … a 19-year old was killed there not many years back. His body washed up a’few days later.”

“One guy from the States and his brother went there in a rage. The brother’s body was never found.”

“I am too scared to drive over the Glass Window. My friend’s father was swept away there. His body found several days later. The clothes ripped completely off.”

I can’t tell you how many independent stories we heard about death at Queen’s Bath and virtually every local told us “you should not go in a rage.” It was anything but a rage when we went, low tide on a calm day, yet it was still dangerous. I’m telling you, I cannot stress this enough:

BE CAREFUL AT THE GLASS WINDOW AND QUEEN’S BATH!!

Okay, rant over. Back to the funky pics! When I got back to the States, I booked an appointment with my primary care physician immediately and scheduled an x-ray. This is what my leg looked like the day I went to the doc’s. I call this my “morgue photo.” It literally looked like the leg of a dead person!!

The physician’s assistant (“PA”) who saw me said she had never seen a hematoma as large as mine so she called the doctor while she was in the room with me to ask whether it needed draining or other care. Like Nurse Gibson, my doctor at Baptist Health Care advised the best course of action was to allow my body to reabsorb the blood that had pooled. I was given instructions for frequent icing and elevating, then it was off for my x-rays. I found a long flowy dress (down to my ankles) was the best thing for me to wear during those weeks so no one could see my fatly-wrapped thigh, but when I would pull the dress back to show the medical personnel my wound, many dropped their jaws, as I would have too if I wasn’t so used to seeing my Zombie leg every day. I was surprised, however, to learn after the x-ray that I had suffered a hairline fracture to my forehead and nose. That definitely explained my body’s Avatar response!

Over the course of the next few weeks/months, my leg slowly began to heal. The bruising trickled away in weird purple rivulets and the mound that was my hematoma started to re-absorb centimeter by centimeter.

A little worried about the slow process, I went to see my doc at Baptist again after about a month. This time it was not the PA but my actual doctor who got to see me and his eyes literally bulged when he saw my leg for the first time. But, he did not hesitate in telling me news I probably already could have guessed, but still did not want to hear.

“It will probably take six months or more for that to re-absorb.”

Six months? I thought. He told me that on February 11, 2020 which meant I was going to have to live with my “lady lump” (another name Phillip and I came up with for her) until July at least! But, what could I do about it? Nothing was the answer. Keep icing and resting and carry on.

I often sent friends progress photos of my leg during this time and I had one write back and literally say “Please stop sending these. Your leg is horrifying!” I kept sending them anyway … : ) That’s the price you pay for being my friend! And, my followers! This was my progress April through July:

One of my close friends (whom I texted the pic above to) said: “Looks like abstract art.”

I am thrilled to share this is what my leg looks like now:

The tanner I get during the summer, the harder it is to even notice the scrape scars on the my thigh. There is a slight blue/purple around the ring of my hematoma and it is still hard and numb in the center, but it is no longer a bulbous lump protruding off of my leg, thank goodness! And, my little lump actually sits right on my vastus medialis muscle, so the slight protrusion kind of looks like I’ve bulked that muscle up a bit. I got lucky in that regard.

Here is a pic of me just a few weeks ago at the beach, and from afar, you can’t even see any scarring or lump on my right leg.

As for my face, those scratches did start to heal up nicely even before we left the Bahamas and the Avatar drainage quickly subsided.

However, I definitely have three new, visible scars on my forehead. You can really see them when I’m tan and flushed (from a workout or something).

They were pinkish-red in the beginning and I had to cover them with makeup but that worked well enough.

Over time they turned more white and are hardly visible when I’m more white too, in the winter.

Say hello to Lawyer Annie! February 2020

Overall I have very little to complain about or bemoan considering the severity of what I now know happened in those harrowing seconds as I rolled over the rocks and how well my tough little body handled it. I think she deserves a whopping high five. On a final note, this was an interesting takeaway from our experiences seeking medical care in both the Bahamas (which, I mentioned, we had never yet done) compared to in the States.

Comparison of the Available Care in the Bahamas Versus the States

We learned when talking to many people after my injury that had I suffered a severely-broken bone or some other serious injury that needed immediate emergency treatment, Phillip and I would have found ourselves in a very bad place. It would have cost somewhere between $10,000 and $20,000 to get a helicopter to fly out to Eleuthera or Spanish Wells to fly me to an ER in Nassau if I had needed it. The gal that worked the desk at Yacht Haven Marina told us when her little brother broke his leg jumping off the infamous bridge connecting Spanish Wells to Russell Island and they learned it was going to cost $15,000 to fly him to Nassau on an emergency medic chopper, the family buzzed him across instead on a neighbor’s power boat. “That ride was not com-turble for lil’ Davin, I’ll tell you dat,” she said. I couldn’t imagine bouncing around on a power boat with a cracked tibia. Uggh. So, the availability and cost of emergency care in the Bahamas is hard to come by. I’m incredibly lucky I didn’t need anything of the sort.

However, the difference in the time it took to get care and the cost was astonishing. Phillip and I sat in Nurse Gibson’s clinic for ten minutes, maybe, before she brought me back for an immediate, personal inspection and the visit cost me a total of $35. Back in the States, however, I sat about forty-five minutes after my scheduled appointment time before I was called back to the examination room where I sat another fifteen before the PA came into see me. That visit was over $100 with my co-pay costing me $25. I then spent a good two hours being shuffled from desk to desk in the hospital before I was sent up to the third floor for my x-ray, where I sat another forty-or-so minutes before they called me back. The x-rays I was going to get in the Bahamas I was told would cost $160. The cost of the very same x-rays the States? $380. I wonder why that is.

Things that make you go hmmmmm ….

Injured at Queen’s Bath

September 4, 2020anniedike

Warning: there are some graphic footage and photos in this blog. If you get queasy easily, feel free to read a text-only version of this occurrence here.

Part Two: As I mentioned in my last blog, what occurred that day in Eleuthera was one of the main reasons Phillip and I ended our cruising season in 2019 early. While that decision proved wildly advantageous in the following months—particularly when the unpredictable COVID pandemic began to spread—we did not know it at the time. All we knew then was: Captain Annie was not in great shape to set off on an offshore passage anytime soon. I was in need of x-rays, wound care, antibiotics, and months of icing and elevating. What we know now is: I’m incredibly lucky to still be here, albeit with a new wicked scar that, along with the others, form the chorus that is my story. Here’s what happened.

December 1, 2019

Phillip and I had just returned from our failed attempt to sail from Spanish Wells, Bahamas on (what was supposed to be) our longest offshore passage yet on the I65 route down to the BVIs. After we were towed back in, we met another couple, Mike and Melody, who had just sailed into Spanish Wells after a pretty rough Gulf Stream crossing, and had set up a fun joint date to ferry over to Eleuthera on a calm day and explore several attractions Phillip had found in the guide books: 1) the Glass Window; 2) the Queen’s Bath; 3) the Preacher’s Cave; and 4) the Sapphire Blue Hole.

The Glass Window did not in any way disappoint. It’s amazing to think one tiny little cleft in the rocks traversed by a small bridge is all that stands between the mighty deep blue Atlantic and the shallow, emerald-green Caribbean Sea.

Mike, Melody, Phillip, and I had become practically giddy when a big wave came toppling over the rocks soaking us up to our hips on the road. In our euphoric state, we made our way to our next stop, the Queen’s Bath. The Bath had been promoted as a tranquil spot high up on the cliff where you can wade in the pools of water that form in the quarry and are warmed by the sun. Hence the name: the Queen’s Bath. Unfortunately, the pools were not as warm as we had expected (a little chilly to be honest), but the view out into the Atlantic was stunning. Mike and Melody picked their way down a little closer to the water while Phillip and I were taking pictures further up.

Mike hollered at us from a pool with a fantastic view so Phillip and I ventured over. We sat there for a bit watching the water in the ocean ebb and flow, hoping to see a good splash. We were probably a good 20 feet up and away from the water below. Mind you, this was a PERFECTLY CALM DAY. Very little wind and waves.

As we watched the Atlantic breathe a swell, a wave crashed against the rocks and sprayed up soaking us all. Immediately after it subsided we all looked quickly to one another. At first I didn’t see Phillip which scared me, but he soon popped up, saying he had jumped down to hold on tight as the wave came through. Looking back, I cannot tell you precisely why none of us, not a one, had a worry or fear at that moment. No hairs were rising on the back of our necks. No red flags were waving. Nothing told us, at that point: Beware. And, this rings true for Phillip who is a very cognizant and cautious person, considering his military background, as well as Mike, who has considerable military experience as well, including that as a field medic. It just did not seem dangerous. That’s all I can say. And, it was only a brief 5-10 seconds after that first considerably minor wave came through that the ocean took a deep breath and sent a massive rogue wave through that changed everything. While I was the closest to the water, I wasn’t but about 2-3 feet from Mike and Melody who were sitting and standing on the other side of the same pool. I was holding on, incredibly tightly, when the water rose up and began to rush past us. At first it was thrilling. Such an intoxicating, exciting feeling.

Then it took me.

It was just far too powerful.

I felt an immediate plunge of guilt as I felt my hands rip off the rocks and my body struck in several places. I can’t tell you where I felt an impact (other than all over) until, after a few tumbles, my head finally struck. That one I remember. I heard a little crack at the moment and thought it was my neck popping. I would find out later it was something else. But, when my face struck, for whatever reason, instinct told me to grab that rock and never let go. I reached out and got a firm grip just as the massive amount of water that had moments ago submerged us now began to rush out. Imagine holding onto the edge of an Olympic size swimming pool at the top of a hotel and the bottom of the pool drops out. Hundreds of gallons rushed past me with astonishing suction.

I held on.

When the water receded and we all scrambled to make eye contact, I will never forget Mike’s expression. He was the first to see my injuries. His eyes immediately bulged. The whites around his pupils are burned into my memory. His jaw went slack and he stumbled at first trying to lunge toward me, his hand outstretched, to examine my wounds. It must have looked bad, but thankfully when he stroked a wet hand over my forehead, it revealed only surface wounds there and he breathed a sigh of relief, as did I because I was able to move everything just fine. Phillip looked mortified. And angry. I was definitely angry. Mad at myself for letting the water take me, for letting myself get injured, for (as stupid as this sounds) potentially ruining what was supposed to be a great day for everyone.

I immediately downplayed any need for treatment. “It’s just scratches,” I told them. “I’m fine,” I chuckled with a smile. And, in that moment, I did feel fine. I’m sure it was the enormous amounts of adrenaline pumping through me, the coursing of which had mercifully guided my hands to the rock I gripped with all I had that both pummeled and saved me. I’m sure it was the adrenaline and shock, as well, that had made it not hurt that bad. Especially considering what I found out later had occurred in those tumultuous ten seconds.

I suffered hairline fractures to my forehead and nose, deep, scar-rending scratches all over my body and face, and an impact to my right thigh that caused a hematoma I believe I will live with in some form for the rest of my life. I cannot believe I didn’t break my femur with that hit.

Even though the pictures you will soon see on this blog and the next are alarming, know that I am lucky. Extremely lucky. With the wisdom and insight of hindsight, I know now it could have been far, far worse. There could have easily been NO wounds to see, no body to find at all. While the four of us had no idea at the time, we have since learned the Glass Window and Queen’s Bath in Eleuthera are actually notorious for sweeping people across the rocks, breaking bones, gnashing skin, even snatching people entirely in their grasp, never to be seen again. Here are some videos (don’t watch if you’re squeamish).

Glass Window:

Go to 1:18: https://youtu.be/eE-j-An2M1E

Go to 10:10: https://youtu.be/v9IauO2V8E8

Article about a 19-year old who was swept off the bridge and never found … sad.

Here is a video by another travel vlogger (go to 5:48) showing them in a calm pool at the Queen’s Bath when a VERY small wave comes over their shoulders, but there is a good shot right after the wave of the flesh-eating rocks that I was raked across. Yeesh.

The Wynns even did a video featuring the Glass Window and Queen’s Bath and they mention (while standing on the ledge) wishing it were “a raging sea, a storm,” so they could really capture the intensity of it (go to 9:02). I’m telling you, you just can’t fathom how fast and powerful the water can become once a swelling wave slams into the rocky cliff. It can shoot up 100 feet in an instant, as if gravity does not exist.

I’m sharing all of these so those of you out there who are planning some day to visit these very visit-worthy, stunning places, please PLEASE give the incredible power of the ocean its due. Stay back from the ledge. Do not go if the seas are rough. Go see them. Absolutely. Just, go with caution.

Okay, enough of that. Suffice it to say, we went on a CALM day, and we never expected the wave we got, its immense power, or our unfortunate exposure to such danger. So, rewind back to post-Annie rock-roll. Like I said, I did not believe I was hurt that bad. No broken bones (that I knew of at the time), no persistent, dangerous bleeds. Just scratches … or so I thought. I convinced everyone I was fine and that we should just carry on with our day. “Take a pic,” I said. And they did. And, I’m smiling.

While you can definitely see the abrasions on my forehead, some on my chins and thighs as well, “Everything is fine,” I told them. Nothing to see (or treat) here. (I do hope you are realizing what a dumb move that was, but I’ve been known to make a few of those in my past.)

We carried on, ambling around a nearby beach to pick up shells. I tied a sarong around my waist to cover my injuries as we headed to a little eatery for lunch. I even took a selfie in the car making a funny face at the camera, seriously thinking it was just going to be some minor wounds to deal with.

I cleaned up my face and other scrapes a bit in the bathroom at the restaurant and pulled my hat down low to hide my marred forehead (something I would do every day for the coming weeks). But, as we sat at the table and ate, weird things started happening to my body. I could feel under the table as my right thigh (which had hit the hardest) started to swell and firm up considerably. I didn’t mention anything at lunch (because I’m brilliant remember, and stubborn … a quality Phillip has had to battle before). But, as we made our way to the next stop, the Preacher’s Cave, my heart began to race as we walked up the path. I got hot all over and sweaty. I honestly thought I was about to pass out. I sat down and finally showed Phillip my leg. It was the size of a watermelon.

That’s when we all changed course. Nothing was fine. There was definitely something to see here. And treat. I had a leg the size of a blimp and pain that was finally starting to seep in where all of my joints had hit. My head began to throb. It was time to take action and seek treatment, which was an experience in and of itself. Stay tuned next time for the final chapter of this saga. The evolution of my leg wound will bewilder you.

Take a Virtual Trip With Us! To Our Favorite Island in the Bahamas: Spanish Wells!

April 29, 2020anniedike

Since we are all pinned down at home unable to travel, I thought you might enjoy a virtual tour of what has now become mine and Phillip’s favorite island in the Bahamas: Spanish Wells! While this island definitely impressed us the first time we came to Eleuthera in 2017, earning our “favorite beach in the Bahamas” award, Phillip and I now know we didn’t stay quite long enough to truly let the spirit of Spanish Wells sink in. This time, however, in November of last year, soon after my scariest moment underwater in the Berries, we were able to spend a solid week in Spanish Wells while preparing to make our run offshore to the BVIs, which allowed us to uncover more of its hidden gems. Spanish Wells has both the non-touristy, untouched “local feel” of the Bahamas—where you can (and usually do) walk the entire island every day and interact with the locals—while still offering several diverse and delicious little bars and restaurants (even an ice cream stand!) where you can indulge on their island-inspired treats as well as plentiful groceries and marine supplies. This balance of authenticity, bounty, and beauty has made Spanish Wells our favorite stop in the Bahamas so far. Here, let me show you. Take a virtual trip with us and tell me:

Where else in the Bahamas can you …

Make a beautiful overnight run from the Berries (probably our second favorite stop in the Bahamas) to be greeted by “Buddha” himself at Buddha’s Snack Shack along with infinite words of wisdom on the walls? If I wore pants instead of a bikini, I’d tuck a leg, too.

Tuck a pant leg and people will expect less of you! lol

Watch two stunning African grey parrots give each other “big love?”

Stumble upon a craft gallery right on Main Street filled with incredible pieces all made by the local children?

Hold a setting Spanish sun? I mean …

See such a dizzying array of island colors while walking to Mimi’s Beach Hangout to lounge in a Lazyboy on the beach?

Venture out at night for a cold sweet treat from Papa’s Scoops, a walk-up ice cream shop (and take photos you won’t remember the next day)?

Make Phillip reconsider his law firm hours? : D

Challenge one another to a cannonball contest by jumping off the famous Russell Island bridge (a rite of passage for all local kids in Spanish Wells)? Tell me … who cannonballed best? : )

Then, post-jump, get surprised by and treated to fresh, hand-made ceviche at this local’s little pop-up stand on the Russell side?

Enjoy Christmas decorations (at our favorite restaurant, Wreckers) for months, instead of only weeks, as the locals in Spanish Wells put them up the day after Halloween? Gotta love their Christmas spirit!

Have flaming cheese brought to your table? I mean …

Cook up fresh-caught strawberry grouper and massive lobster tails bought from a local fisherman at the docks who loves to share all kinds of stories from his forty years of fishing around Spanish Wells?

Get to walk past this awesome store-front painting every day? (I actually started to miss it after we left, and it gives me a great feeling of nostalgia every time I see it again).

Stroll a shore this beautiful?

KITE a shore this beautiful? Annnnddd almost get “kilt” (Annie term) by Phillip – watch till the end! : )

I’ll tell you, it was really tough for Phillip and I to leave Spanish Wells, but we were excited to venture out on what we expected to be our longest passage yet on Plaintiff’s Rest on an 8-10 day run offshore on the “I65” route from Eleuthera down to the BVIs. Boy, do we have some doozies to share from that trip. There was more than one casualty. And many lessons learned. Next time! We hope you enjoyed this virtual island trip! Stay safe followers.

My Scariest Moment Underwater

March 12, 2020anniedike

Getting up close and personal with seven-foot sand sharks at the Florida Aquarium?

No, that wasn’t it. Let’s see … coming up on a sunken airplane and fearing I might find the dead pilot, all bloated and rotting still in the pilot seat?

That was a close second. I always imagine the dead bodies of those who may have been lost in the crash when I come up on a sunken vessel or plane. Viewing footage from the sunken Titanic really freaks me out.

But, I’ll have to confess that my actual scariest moment underwater up to this point was when I got spooked by a starfish. Yes. A starfish. Those super cute little critters that barely move at all and can’t hurt anything. I can blame that one on Phillip as he brought it up right next to my face when the water was murky from us scrubbing the bottom and we knew sharks could be around so I was on high-alert. Inches from my watery goggles, that thing looked like a carnivorous octopus. So, I felt highly justified in my momentary full-body starfish freak-out. But, that moment was recently one-upped when we were cruising this last November in the Berry Islands by my to-date scariest moment underwater.

November, 2019:

Although our sail from Devil’s-Hoffmandown to Chub Cay in the southern Berry Islands, Bahamas was not a fun one, it was rough upwind romp in 18-22 knots of wind (yuck!), thankfully Plaintiff’s Rest handled it incredibly well.

Especially considering this was her first time sailing in six months as she had just weathered hurricane season astonishingly well hunkered down in Great Harbour Cay. She beat and bashed her way right down the Berry Island chain to the inlet near Chub Cay.

Phillip and I were both thrilled when we finally got some wind-block and felt the conditions ease up. We had decided to sail down this way before making our way over to Eleuthera to visit some friends of our who have a house on Frazer’s Hog Cay. The story of how we met Steve and Pat and our completely random but instantly un-severable friendship is always a fun one to share. Feel free to check it out in this fun blog post: Cruising Is About People: Steve & Pat, This One’s For You!

Our first picnic together, we had a hot-dog potty! Get it? : D

Steve and Pat are the type of people cut from the same cloth as Pam Wall, extremely well-traveled, resourceful, kind, incredibly funny, and wildly entertaining. They’re the kind of people you feel every moment spent with them was one not wasted. Phillip and I were excited for the opportunity to spend another memorable few days with Steve and Pat while on their ball there off of Frazer’s Hog Cay before we headed off to Eleuthera with the very loose plans to potentially take the “I-65 route” down to the BVIs in 2020. That was the plan … and those always work out to a “T” when cruising, right?

Right?!

For the moment, we had no idea what future lay in store other than a few fun days likely spent snorkeling, spear-fishing, beach picnicking, kitesurfing, and often ending with a fun community dinner each night on the island followed by a rousing game of Mexican Dominoes which … can get pretty heated! That was how we spent our time last time at Frazer’s Hog Cay and it was actually Steve who taught us both how to spearfish back in 2018.

During that trip, I speared my first lobster! It was a thrilling crunch through this guy’s shell that got me hooked on spearfishing!

Especially for lobster as they rarely flee. Yeah, that’s right, I like prey that can’t run away. I’m that guy. Although, they can slide down your spear, though, which is exactly what this guy did, crashing right on my face, causing me to have an absolute flip-out. (Those are real.) I ended up dropping him down to the bottom in my thrashing and coughing, but thankfully he wasn’t able to get off the spear so I was able to retrieve him. I was told it made for an exceedingly entertaining show from Steve and Pat’s front row seats in the dinghy.

In light of that experience last time, Steve was excited to get us out again for another spear session in the Berries. Our first day, we dove right around their house and Phillip speared several lobsters!

Man, that was a tasty dinner. Although I got absolutely creamed in Mexican Dominoes that night, it was worth it for the fresh shellfish! Day two, the crew packed up on a fellow islander’s toot-around boat, lovingly named the Chub Tub and headed over to picnic and snorkel on Bird Cay.

Again, Steve had us armed with spears in case we spotted anything swimming around that could be equally tasty for dinner. That day, spearfishing in the Berries, however, left me with a lasting, albeit frightening memory. Who here is familiar with lionfish?

Along the Gulf coast, there has been a big push in the last 5-10 years encouraging fishermen to hunt and kill as many lionfish as possible, as they are invasive, unnatural predators in our Gulf waters. Sadly, lionfish are carnivorous with no known predators and the ability to reproduce all year long. As such, they stand as a deadly threat to native stocks such as snapper and grouper as well as algae-eating parrotfish. So, when the crew spotted a lionfish during one of our beach picnic outings, Steve was the first to hand me a spear. Any enemy of the mesmerizing ecosystem in the Bahamas is an enemy of mine, so I did not hesitate.

I dove down to where two lionfish had been spotted, just a few feet under water, hiding among some rocks and coral. I was nervous but excited as I drew back my spear, aiming directly for the body. Then the worst thing happened. I speared the first lionfish clean through on the first shot without issue.

Why is that the worst thing to have happened? Because it made me undeservedly confident. Then another terrible thing happened. I shot the second lionfish clean through. The crowd was going wild!

Then a terrible thing happened. A third was spotted and I went after him with reckless abandon, feeling like the true lion tamer I thought I was. If my head could have fit inside of his open mouth I would have stuck it in there just to hear the roar from the crowd. I was undefeatable! I was a champion! I was … delusional.

With my spear cocked and aimed at the third lionfish, I let it go and watched it pierce into the rocks around the lionfish. He wriggled and retreated but he was not speared. I followed down further, got closer, cocked and aimed but missed again and when I did, on the verge of my ability to hold my breath, that’s when my scariest moment underwater occurred.

He charged.

As soon as the spear left my hand and struck the rock, that lionfish burst out of his hole, with all quills fully fanned out and he started steaming toward me.

It was just for a second before he turned back around, but I think my heart stopped. I know I pissed my bikini. I sucked in a mouthful of water and breached the surface hacking and coughing and flailing as fast as I could away from those rocks, envisioning an army of lionfish chasing me. Although I was, again, a wildly-entertaining flailing Annie mess, this time was far more frightening than the lobster-face encounter. I’m pretty sure all lobsters can do is pinch and snip you. But, the thought of being poisoned underwater? No thank you. The thought of instant paralysis and sinking earned that frightening fish the win for the day. Although I was brave enough to go back to get my spear, I couldn’t see that bastard lionfish anymore when I did and I’m not sure I would have aimed at him again … that day anyway. For the time being, he will be, for me, the one that got away. But, I was thankful for those I was able to spear. And, that I had at least killed two of those terrible predators.

Take that Lionfish 1 and Lionfish 2. As for you, Lionfish 3. I hope we meet again someday beneath the deep sea.

Ever Been On a Sail You Just Want to End?

February 27, 2020anniedike

Phillip and I will both eagerly, happily, readily admit it: We are 100% fair-weather sailors on our boat. While there are definitely longer, more intense passages we still want to make in our lifetime—sailing around Cape Horn, for example, sailing in the Indian Ocean, we’ve even thought about doing a leg of the Clipper Race—we probably will not do those in our boat and we will not do them because we like to bash around in rough conditions. Much like the Atlantic-crossings we have done, Phillip and I would undertake those because of the accomplishment it would signify. There is a lot of pride that comes into play when we both can say: “Yes, we’ve sailed across the Atlantic.” Or, when people ask, “How did you get to Cuba?” and we can say: “We sailed there.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Yes, just the two of us.”

Five-day bash across the Gulf to Cuba in 2016

I’ll be honest. That’s a pretty f&*king cool feeling. I love the look people sometimes give us in response. I feel like they are now thinking there are more things in the world possible than they knew, and that, if those two can do that, maybe I can do more than I imagined. I hope Phillip and I always inspire each other and other people to greater endeavors. When Phillip and I voluntarily embark on passages we know could likely become extremely arduous, we do it for that reason: to accomplish something rare, do something many others have not.

Crossing the Atlantic with Yannick on s/v Andanza in 2016

But, the only reward for a common day-hop where the conditions became gnarly is: You Survived! And your reward is simply a “Whew! We made it,” and an icy cocktail at the end of the day. I’ll be honest: I’m going to have a cocktail either way, so I’ll take it without the bash-about and potential broken-whatever.

Phillip and I would never take our boat out in 25-30 knot winds and big seas just for the sport of it. No, Ma’am. If Phillip and I find ourselves in that unfortunate situation, it’s because we didn’t know it was going to be like that out there and our weather prediction was off. (Because that never happens, right? ; ) Well, that was precisely what happened to us when we wrapped our magic dinghy ride to the Blue Hole at Devil’s-Hoffman Cay and sailed down to Chub Cay in the southern Berry Islands to meet up again with our friends Pat and Steve who have a wonderful rustic island home there. It was supposed to be an easy beam-reach day-sail.

Supposed to …

When we left Devil’s-Hoffman, Phillip and I were expecting winds of 15 out the east which would have put us on a nice beam reach heading south toward Chub Cay. And, recall this was going to be our first time sailing Plaintiff’s Rest—not motor-sailing as we did from Great Harbour to Devil’s-Hoffman, but pure sailing—in SIX MONTHS (Lord!) because we had just returned after hurricane season to pick up our cruising again in November, 2019.

First selfie with our baby girl after hurricane season!

We were so excited to get underway, in fact, and start sailing that day that we weighed anchor and set off in the pouring rain.

We didn’t care. We were going sailing! Our kind of sailing.

And, it definitely started out that way! See?

Nice 15-knot winds right on the beam. We were flying! Look at that. Making 7.3 speed with ease (and comfort). But, about an hour into our “perfect sail” the conditions started to deteriorate. Of course, the rain came back, in cold driving sheets.

But, far worse, the wind not only shifted—to where it was coming more out of the southwest, right on our nose as we tried to pivot onto a heading toward Chub Cay—they also picked up to 22-25 knots, which is just more than we prefer. Don’t get me wrong. Our baby girl is tough as nails, with all new wire rigging put on in 2016, her mast-step rebuilt stronger than ever before, and a super rugged but flexible balsa core throughout. She is fully capable of sailing in 25+ with ease, I just don’t personally want to see, hear, or feel her do it. The potential for breakage skyrockets and stresses me out. I’m not a shoe person but it would be like putting on a new pair of exquisite, shiny Louis Vitton heels and then running like mad through the streets. You are totally going to mess those shoes up. (And your ankles, too, in that scenario). Although I hear women do it … on a professional level!

But, there we were, three hours now away from turning back toward Devil’s-Hoffman, or two hours into the wind to get where we needed to keep our cruising momentum. What would you do?

We reefed up and kept trucking. It was kind of shocking to see how quickly the seas kicked up, though. I guess with no protection from the south, it doesn’t take long for the wind to impact the seas, because we were beating into some miniature monsters.

Every time we tacked thinking it would give us an advantage, I swear we were going backwards. Like we were on a sea treadmill and losing ground. I felt like the boat gave us a “Really guys?” each time we tacked and didn’t gain an inch.

In moments like those, I wish I could become this huge hand that comes down from the sky and just plucks her like a rubber bath duckie out of that mess and sets her gently down in the anchorage, still and safe, and on her hook.

Have any of you ever felt that way? You’re fine to bury the rails and beat to windward on anyone’s boat but your own? I wonder if I’m alone on this?

Although Phillip and I love sailing, we love cruising, we love being on our boat, there are just some sails I want to end, and, unfortunately, this was one for us. Our first sail of the 2019 cruising season, and we just wanted it to end. But, I must say the boat performed beautifully. She powered through, and that hellish beat was over in a few hours. I can’t tell you what a sigh of relief Phillip and I both let out when we turned into the inlet at Chub Cay and the seas finally loosened their grip.

My “Thank God, we’re almost there” smile

I love that moment when the boat finally slows from a full-out run to a gentle gallop, then to an easy trot, and you know you’re going to make it. That day we (well, and by “we” I mean primarily Plaintiff’s Rest, with me and Phillip simply riding on her back) definitely earned our “Whew! We made it.” And, you remember what I said about the cocktail. Happy hour is not optional on Plaintiff’s Rest. : )

There she is! Anchored out safely (thank goodness!) behind Frazer’s Hog Cay after a rough beat.

Next up, we play around the southern Berries with some fantastic island friends and embark on our first lionfish spearing adventure. You never know, Captain Annie may still become a lion tamer yet!

The Magic of a Dinghy Ride

February 14, 2020anniedike

It’s not just a rubber transport, it’s more of a magic carpet. Looking at the photos from our time at Devil’s-Hoffman in the Berry Islands, Bahamas, I felt inspired to share a little about … the magic of a dinghy ride.

For those who haven’t yet bought a boat, or haven’t yet set off on an extended cruise, haven’t truly lived aboard for a few months in foreign places, you may not know what majestic wonders your dinghy has in store for you. As a cruiser, your dinghy is your ticket to shore. It is most often the vessel that carries you to a place you have never been before. It also brings you down, almost eye-level with the waters you are anchored in and often shows you for the first time the clarity of the water, the depth, the varied grass, rock, or sand that lies beneath you.

The view at Little Harbour Cay in the Abacos 2018

It brings you closer to the marine life that is swimming, living, sleeping below you, even the Thalassophobian-creatures that might lurk beneath. Phillip and I have seen starfish, reef sharks, and sea turtles, creatures very foreign to us at home, all while riding in the dinghy.

Spotted via dinghy at Powell Cay in the Abacos 2017

Captured via dinghy at Manjack Cay, Abacos, 2017

Every time we pump up the dinghy and hop in to ride to a new shore I can feel my heart striking up a feisty chord. The new-ness of the places we travel to is what we crave. Phillip and I both have a passion for seeing, experiencing, eating, and immersing ourselves in things new. And, it is often the dinghy that takes us there, to a new beach, where we walk a new shore, follow a new trail (sometimes after eight false starts), and find a new blue hole we have never seen before. The feeling of experiencing something for the first time—a place, a song, a person, a dish, a creature, flower, scene, sight, smell. The newness of it all captivates us. And, often it is all made possible solely by the dinghy.

Even in local, familiar anchorages, our dinghy offers us that 5 o’clock buzz around the anchorage, with a drink (better known as a “roadie”) in hand—always—where we stop boat-to-boat and catch up with, or meet for the first time, our eclectic, inspiring fellow cruisers out there.

Picking up BaBaLu at our favorite home anchorage, Ft. McRee, for our costume-themed (Phillip is playing a sexy Captaint Stubing here) second annual Halloween Boozer Cruiser.

The dinghy is what enables us to connect with those around us, otherwise we would be isolated on the boat, never introducing ourselves to those around us, getting to know them, and letting them get to know us. In an anchorage, that all happens by dinghy.

So, yes, while it is just Hypalon, valves, and glue … to some. Our dinghy (lovingly named “Dicta” on Plaintiff’s Rest) is so much more. The thrill of our dinghy ride into Hoffman’s Cay in the Berries to dive the blue hole made me realize how much I appreciate, and look forward to, the moment Phillip and I load into the dinghy and set off to a new place, and it inspired me to share with you all just how many roles—in addition to a magic carpet—that our dinghy plays for us.

A conch-scavenging vehicle:

An any-reef, any-time scuba stop:

A protector from potentially-unfriendly foes : (

A keeper of gathered goodies:

A source of entertainment (pumping 7” of water out after a pour):

A source of more boat projects (they’re good for you, trust me – keeps you humble):

A provider of “whole-boat selfies” : ) Those are important!

A front row seat to some of the best sunsets we’ve ever seen:

A floating scaffold for doing hull-side (big) boat projects:

A good, safe practice boat for Captain Annie (who often gets the backwards right-left tiller function mixed up and bumps into things):

A source of yet-more boat projects (you can see how we stay pretty humble):

A source of yet-even-more entertainment (you can see how we stay happy):

And (just for fun) the subject for an aptly-titled, badass video from our scoot around Powell Cay in the Abacos in 2017. Enjoy!

The dinghy does all of this for us, and so much more. Dicta is such a crucial part of our transportation, connection, and overall cruising experience. Do you agree? Share in a comment what your dinghy means to you!

What Lurks Beneath? Overcoming My Thalassophobia at Hoffman’s Blue Hole!

January 23, 2020anniedike

I have a confession to make. I have a phobia—thalassophobia—or a unique form of it, perhaps. Where Thalassophobia is the fear of what lies beneath you in a vast, deep body of water like the ocean, mine is limited to shallow bodies of water when the water is dark or murky and I cannot see what’s on the bottom. I think the fact that the bottom is closer to me, 20 feet or less, is what scares me more than the deep ocean, because the dark creatures below are now within striking distance! What the heck is down there? This guy?

I don’t know. Because I can’t see the bottom! And, I’m way too creative to not start imagining all kinds of monstrosities awaiting me there.

And, I say my phobia is different because I have swam in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and nothing about it frightened me.

In the ocean, I guess I feel like whatever is down there is likely way, way, waaaayyy down there. I’ll have plenty of time to see that monster coming to crawl back onto the boat. But, when the bottom is just ten or so feet down, I have no hope of escaping. I’m only one tail/tentacle flap away from that guy!

What’s worse? If I can feel the murky, muddy, unknown bottom on my feet but I can’t see it. Bwwwummhhhuuh. I just had goosebumps flow through me thinking about that. When my feet start sinking into a murky bottom, I flip the heck out! Here’s what it probably looks like down there:

Here’s what I see down there.

Imagine stepping on this guy …

I have often been seen swimming, fully horizontal, in two-feet of water all the way to the shore because I don’t want to walk on the bottom. Is anyone with me on this? Am I crazy? Wait … Don’t answer that …

But, I mention the phobia to share one fantastic victory! My dive into the Blue Hole at Hoffman’s Cay in the Bahamas!

Just you wait. The real-live footage of my phobia is hilarious. After Phillip and I finally found our flanges while replacing our raw water impeller, got the engine put back together, and found me a suitable shower shoe, albeit it non-Croc, it was time for us to shove off and leave Great Harbour Cay for the first time in six months. Our baby girl had weathered exceptionally well there, even as Hurricane Dorian raged just over head, and it was time to reward her with another awesome cruising season! Phillip and I had been looking forward to flying back to the boat for months, and it was all for this moment! When we finally got our baby girl moving again! Oh, and when I could wear bikinis all day every day for months! Whoo-freaking-whoo! Captain Annie even de-docked us like a boss and we headed out the very narrow cut into Great Harbour Cay that kept Plaintiff’s Rest so well protected this past season.

Being out, the boat moving, the sails filled, for the first time in six months was exhilarating. You know what this calls for … That’s right. Sailing selfies!!

We sailed around the north tip of Little Stirrup Cay—which, now as Carnival Island’s “Coco Cay,” is sadly a monstrosity in the beautiful Berry Islands—in between four massive cruise ships. As I’ve mentioned before, we are not a fan of Coco Cay.

But, we had read great things about the anchorage between Devil’s Cay and Hoffman’s Cay just south of the Stirrup Cays, called “Devils-Hoffman” in the Explorer charts, including a pristine little Blue Hole in the middle of Hoffman’s Cay. Here is a map of the Berries showing the location of Devil’s Cay, which is just south of Hoffman’s Cay.

And, here is the Blue Hole on Hoffman’s. I mean, look how cool that is!

A place where the Earth just fell away, leaving behind a seemingly-perfect blue sphere of mysteries! Phillip and I were determined to find it, jump it, and call ourselves Blue Hole Champions! I think they give out little rings afterward that you can all clink together and say “Our powers combined, we are Captain Blue Hole!” or something along those lines. Just for fun : )

I used to love that show. Maybe if it had been more popular, we’d all be in better shape now. Captain Planet aside, Phillip and I had a great little motor-sail from Great Harbour Cay down to Devil’s-Hoffman. The winds were light and we knew we needed to run the engine a bit to get her legs stretched out. The guidebooks also did not disappoint. Devil’s-Hoffman offered a beautiful secure little anchorage that was easy to navigate with plenty of depth. Plaintiff’s Rest seemed incredibly happy to be off the dock and floating free on her hook.

And, Phillip and I were excited to pump up our dinghy, Dicta, for the first time this season and get to shore to find this mesmerizing Blue Hole!

From the overhead view, you would think this hole would be super easy to find, right? Right in the middle of the island where all the trees and brush just fall away? One would think. It was not. There weren’t any signs or indications that we could find on how to find it. We started on a spit of sand on the eastern shore, ducking into different paths or openings in the thick brush, striking out left and right.

I even climbed a tree to try to look up and out to find the hole, with no luck. After a half hour of hiking around on the east side, we decided to hop back in the dinghy and cruise around to the south shore to try there. Our first few path attempts, we struck out again. With the setting sun on our heels, we were about to leave feeling disheartened and unaccomplished, until Phillip saw a little opening on the left side of the south beach. As we began to follow that along, it seemed clear this was finally it … THE TRAIL to the Blue Hole. And, turns out, it was! We turned a corner, the thick brush finally fell away, and there she was. The infamous Blue Hole.

With all the talk of this Blue Hole and our tremendous efforts to find it, I knew I had to jump in. Which, in and of itself has never been a problem for me. I’m an avid cliff diver.

But, I did not know this Blue Hole would trigger my murky-bottom version of Thalassophobia. When we looked over the edge, however, and saw the hole, I could see that there was a bottom, I just couldn’t make out what was down there. My brain said: “Where’s that phobia switch? Oh, there it is. Flick ” And I said: *GULP* Seriously, look at my expression. Does that look like a face of courage to you?

But, I was going to be brave. I’d talked a big blue-hole game. Phillip and I had overcome big hurdles to get here. I was not going to let my phobia stop me. Despite knowing monsters like this were down there …

… don’t try to convince me otherwise, I know they are … I dove anyway! There she goes!

But, to prove my phobia is real, I’m so glad Phillip filmed this bit. Listen closely to what I tell Phillip when I’m swimming back to shore.

PHOBIA ANNIE: “I don’t know what’s down there. I’m gonna swim fast.”

PHILLIP: “What do you think’s down there?”

PHOBIA ANNIE: “I don’t know!” (said with fear)

I crack myself up watching that. Phillip dipped in next and just swam around all leisure like.

Where Phillip lounges …

I swim like a maniac trying to get out.

I even dove with my flip flops in hand because I didn’t want to have to walk on any creepy murky bottom on the way out that might freak me out. But, by-golly I did it!

I DOVE THAT HOLE!!!

Now, where’s my ring? Ha! Now, tell me, do any of you out there think you have this phobia? If so, is it the deep version or the shallow, like mine? And, who has dove the Blue Hole at Devil’s-Hoffman?

Next up, we’ll share a fun little problem we had with our transducer. I mean who really needs a depth gage in the Bahamas? Pssshhh … That’s child’s play! When Phillip asked me “What’s the depth, Captain Annie?” I said …

Croc Hunting in Great Harbour

January 7, 2020anniedike

November 9, 2019 – Great Harbour Cay, Bahamas:

[Spoken in a thick Aussie accent] There I was … standing on the precipice, knowing it was going to be a gnarly journey across treacherous waters and an even more unforgiving landscape once I reached the other side. But, he was out there, baiting me, challenging me … one wild and unpredictable Croc!

Okay, I know, it’s not an actual scary crocodile, but do you know what IS scarier than a crocodile? Whatever the heck is crawling around on this floor that I have nightmares will crawl under my toenails grow roots out if I don’t wear shower shoes.

And, it just so happens my shower shoes were Crocs. These cute little flamingo-themed croc flops that aren’t nearly as bad as the original Croc, which I both refuse to (and cannot) wear. Seriously, the first few times I tried to wear the iconic platypus style when they were a wild hot rage 15 years ago, that bulbous toe would always stub the ground causing me to stumble, trip, even fall. Apologies in advance if any of you are Croc-lovers out there, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say many of these “Croc truths” are not wholly UN-true …

Jesus, those are funny. And, yes, they make them in heels.

Yes, they make them in the form of a cake.

They even make everyone wear them to weddings on the lake.

I’m not sure about this one, though? Truth or a Croc?

While I cannot do the platypus version, I did love my flamingo shower flops and they taught me a very important lesson. Maybe this should be Cruising Rule #78: When boarding a boat, never leave your flops on the dock. Why?

They’ll blow the heck away! Flops mostly, but boat shoes too, particularly if they are Crocs, which mine are! Don’t hate, mine are cute!

But, you know those things are made out of super-light NASA foam stuff that can never sink (and likely never biodegrade, unfortunately). While they are not recyclable either, I was at least pleased to find the company Crocs has partnered with a program, Soles 4 Souls, where you can donate your used Croc shoes back so Crocs can then distribute them to poverty-stricken countries for kids and adults who cannot afford shoes. At least there’s that.

Sadly I had broken Rule #78 that November day post-shower and one of my poor Croc-tastic shower flops blew off the dock and across the bay at Great Harbour Cay. I came back up after dropping my shower goodies down below and making a cocktail (because that’s the first thing you do post-shower!) to find only one lone flamingo flop left on the dock! But, Phillip and I did not fear, because those things float forever, right? We’d lost Crocs to the same plight before only to find them happily floating on the other side of the harbor the next day. As the sun was setting that evening, he and I both swore we saw a tiny little white spec across the harbor from our boat, so we eased merrily into the evening (and into round two of our ‘tails) assuring ourselves a quick Croc hunt in the morning would surely uncover my missing reptile.

Do you see a little white spec? We did! (Might have been the cocktails … )

So, the next morning, we lit up early and pumped up our awesome inflatable YOLO paddleboard on deck so I could paddle over to find that darned shoe! Phillip got me this paddleboard as a birthday gift (he’s kind of awesome that way) back in … gosh … 2014 I believe, and it’s been a real asset on the boat.

It’s a secondary vehicle to/from shore when we need it, a nice getaway from one another when we need a solitary “check-out” paddle, and even fun trying to surf it in light waves! We even patched it with G-Flex 3-4 years ago when it blew out a seam and that crazy fix has held ever since!

[Back to the Aussie accent] Pumped and prepared, off she went, rigid paddle in hand, eyes laser-focused on her target. As she muscled her way across the tumultuous, enemy-laden waters, her knuckles whitened and her muscles flexed. Hunter Annie was on a mission to wrangle a killer Croc on the uncharted eastern shore.

Yes, it was that dramatic. That was quite the paddle. I almost … broke a sweat! *gasp* I’m kidding. You sweat all the time in the Bahamas. From the minute you wake, until the sun goes down and you shower. It’s just part of it. Sadly, though I did make it safely across, I found no white flamingo-themed Croc on the lee shore. Whatever white spec Phillip and I had seen the night before was just that … a crock! I checked and overturned every white piece of anything I could find – pieces of Styrofoam, white tennis shoes, white take-out containers, you name it. But, no flamingo Croc. I did, however, find a spongy gem! Laid bare, all on its own, as if calling to me, was one lonely black Teva flop. It looked fairly new, sun-baked so I assumed it was clean, and just my size! Likely a men’s shoe from the look of it, but still just my size! Only problem was, I couldn’t recall which Croc flop I had lost … the right or the left? Hoping for the best, I tucked the black Teva under the bungee on my board and paddled my way back to the boat.

And, wouldn’t you know it …

The perfect pair! Ebony and ivory! These are, I kid you not, my shower shoes to this day. I get some funny looks sometimes on my way to/from the showers. But, if folks think me mismatching my shoes is the worst I did that day, then I believe I’m ahead of the game! And, I love a shoe with a story. I love anything that has a story.

The funny thing was, though, this tongue-in-cheek “croc hunt”—while not in actuality dangerous at all—did almost end in actual danger on the way back. So … I mentioned the inflatable paddleboard, right? And, the “enemy-laden waters.” I wasn’t kidding about that. Do you want to know what swims around in the Great Harbour Cay Marina?

Sharks. Plenty of them.

We were disheartened to find, about an hour after my paddle, our paddleboard wilting and sinking into the water behind the boat. Poor thing. She’d blown another seam But, she’d definitely done her job first. It gives me chills looking back thinking that paddleboard could have started deflating and sinking when I was still many yards from the boat and I would have been flailing around in those shark-ridden waters. *gulp* I know they say that sharks in the wild will likely ignore you if you’re not failing about, injured, or bleeding. But, I’m two out of three of those things on any given day, so I don’t want to test the theory. In all, I called the croc hunt a success as it restored my shower show pair, and we set to patching up the YOLO hoping she wouldn’t be any worse for the wear!

And, if I didn’t mention this I would be sorely amiss! That night on the boat Phillip whipped up pure bliss! Homemade meatloaf with spinach and mushrooms.

I love wining and dining with that man – Cheers!

Next up, we head to Devil’s-Hoffman. Any of you ever been there? It was the Blue Hole or Bust!

Our Hurricane Hole for 2019: Great Harbour Cay, Berry Islands, Bahamas

November 22, 2019December 5, 2019anniedike

Where to go for hurricane season is always a very tough call. I’ve written here before about hurricanes, the sometimes horrible reality of cruising, and some of our more difficult winters spent here in Pensacola when Phillip and I often had to make the very hard decision of whether to haul: a tough call. I am now grateful I can write here again—with after another hurricane season behind us and, thankfully, our baby girl still floating safe—about our experience this year and what we decided to do with our boat this past hurricane season, 2019. This was another tough call on our part for two reasons: 1) it would leave her still very much in “the box” (although no place is guaranteed); and 2) it would mean we would have to leave the boat unattended for an extended period of time. But, we decided to do it and it turned out to be the right call. Hindsight 20/20. Dodging hurricanes has to be the absolute worst part of cruising.

Kissing our baby goodbye when we decided to leave her on the hard for Hurricane Nate, 2017.

So, how did we hear about Great Harbour Cay?

You might have guessed Pam Wall as she has given us such a wealth of information about “her beloved Bahamas” as she calls them. Love that lady …

But, a dock neighbor in Pensacola actually first told us about it as it was a spot he had kept his exquisite motor yacht during hurricane season several times. And, if someone with that many more zeroes on his boat value than ours felt comfortable leaving it there, that definitely gave me some peace of mind. We honestly had no idea there was any hurricane hole in the Bahamas until he mentioned it.

Phillip and I had already decided not to bring Plaintiff’s Rest back to Pensacola this year for hurricane season because the odds of getting hit hard in Pensacola are fairly high (Pensacola was hit by Hurricane Opal in 1995, Ivan in 2004, Dennis in 2005, and Hurricane Michael only missed us by 100 miles, demolishing hundreds of boats, in 2018). And, the huge bay, which is fantastic for sailing, can be devastating if a hurricane hits us there in the corner pocket of Florida. Phillip and I spent the last several hurricane seasons in Pensacola playing the “haul or not to haul?” game, sometimes back-to-back each season (for Hurricane Nate in 2017 and Hurricane Michael in 2018). That can be an exhausting and expensive process, one that we wanted to avoid this year if possible.

So, our plan for hurricane season 2019 had initially been to dot through the Bahamas rather quickly and get the boat from Pensacola down to Grenada over April-May. But, you know me and Phillip. When it comes to cruising, we don’t like to do anything quickly. It always seems like we could spend weeks (months even!) at some of the places we only stop at for days and, even then, we would still feel like we hadn’t fully explored the place. And, the Bahamas have really resonated with us. Phillip always says it is a place he had heard so many people rushed through in their excitement to get to what most people call “the Caribbean” (the BVIs, Antilles, and such) but once down there, they realize they zipped through the stunning Bahamian islands too quickly. We didn’t want to suffer the same fate!

So, when we started to research Great Harbour Cay and gain some confidence in it, the thought of having an entire second year to explore the Bahamas without having to make the arduous journey (not to mention sometimes dangerous, sometimes lengthy if the weather doesn’t cooperate) bringing the boat to and from Pensacola to the Bahamas two more times, Phillip and I really started to see the appeal of Great Harbour Cay for hurricane season 2019. Leave her in a protected hurricane hole, in the middle of paradise, and just fly in and out whenever we want to hop on board and go cruising? Umm … yes, please!

What we had heard from our dock neighbor friend about Great Harbour Cay sounded ideal. He said the place had natural 360-degree protection, with tall limestone accumulation creating a protected nook for the marina in the center with a single, narrow inlet cut through the limestone that was a big deterrent to surge and swell. That was our initial report.

Then Phillip found this fantastic article, Hurri-CAN or Hurri-CAN’T, about a live-aboard cruising couple that had ridden out Hurricane Matthew (a Cat 4 that went directly over the Berry Islands in October, 2016) at Great Harbour Cay Marina. If you’re interested in the place, it’s an enlightening read.

The one negative was that the marina does not have floating docks. They are fixed concrete docks.

But, with the significant protection from swell, we considered this a risk worth considering. (Especially considering Pensacola, which has floating docks where we kept her, but with one of the biggest deep-water bays in the southeast that would allow massive swell to accumulate if a hurricane hit there and demolish anything within a mile of shore, floating docks or not. Hurricane Ivan in 2004 was a perfect example of this).

Images like this make me nauseous but it’s just a sad reality of cruising. This is possible. Which is why we spend so much time and effort researching, planning, and preparing for hurricane season.

The bottom line is: the decision will always be tough. No place, in or even just outside the “hurricane box,” is 100% safe. And, nothing is guaranteed. Phillip and I have spoken at length about this and we believe there is a portion of it that falls to the boat owner to make the most calculated risk-averse call that can be made and prepare the boat as much as possible, then the other portion is just pure luck. There is only so much you can do, and no one can predict in advance of the season where a hurricane is going to hit. After much consideration, Phillip and I decided, before we left Pensacola to cruise the Bahamas last spring, to call the marina at Great Harbour Cay and make a reservation through hurricane season. Thankfully, once we started cruising the Bahamas last year and finally arrived in Great Harbour Cay in May, 2019 and were able to see the place for ourselves, we were only bolstered in our decision.

The day we were making our way around the northern Berries (and witnessing that crazy monstrosity that is Coco Cay for the first time!) toward the cut for Great Harbour Cay marina, I was Captain of the ship that day. It is a tight channel coming out of the Atlantic and into the harbor on the west side of the island, but it is well marked and clearly shown on the Explorer Charts, so no trouble getting in at high or moderate tide (for us, with a 6 ft draft). But, as I was nearing what the Explorer Charts were telling mewas the entrance into the interior of the island to get to the marina, I saw nothing in front of me but a big limestone wall. It was a little daunting continuing to motor, in a tight channel, toward what appeared to be just a big land mass. (You know how much I enjoy the thought of turning around in a tight channel.) Phillip and I kept looking at the charts and looking ahead for an entry, looking back at the charts, then back ahead for an entry, but for a while none appeared.

Finally—it wasn’t until we were about 50 yards from shore and started to turn to port—the entrance revealed itself as a very narrow cut (our dock neighbor was right!) into the limestone.

While I’ve guessed the width of this many times in telling friends and fellow cruisers where we kept our boat this year, having now driven it a sixth and final time leaving the Berries just a couple of weeks ago, I can safely say it’s only about 50 feet across. Very narrow. Comfortingly narrow. Blissfully narrow, when you’re planning to keep your boat there for hurricane season!

We were also surprised to see the distance (finally in person, rather than just on a map) from the entrance, dog-legged around to the actual marina. Great Harbour Cay is a phenomenal, well-protected hurricane hole. That much was clear just from our motor-in to our slip. (Which Annie docked in like a dream, I must add! : ) When we say “You’re Captain for the day” on our boat it means for whatever the day brings. Sharing all roles possible on the boat is a game-changer.)

However, what was not yet clear, was the added element we were unaware of when we made the decision to stay at Great Harbour Cay for hurricane season and booked our slip.

That was the people. Isn’t it always the people?

The staff and dockmaster at Great Harbour Cay were the je ne sais quoi that really sealed the deal for Phillip and me. While Kingsley, whom I spoke with on the phone was very reassuring and professional, and Tramenco who helped us dock up was super friendly and welcoming, when I first spoke with the dockmaster, Steven, to let him know we were planning to keep the boat there during hurricane season, he said the magic words to me that let me know our baby was going to be in good hands. The first thing Steven said:

“I’m going to need twelve dock lines.”

Twelve?!, I thought at first. Then, instantly my brain snapped. “Absolutely, Steven.” Whatever you need to keep our baby girl safe, you will damn sure get it. Twelve dock lines it shall be. And, if that seems overkill, anything that keeps Plaintiff’s Restsafe in a storm is not, and never will be. Phillip and I ordered up another six (6) brand new, 50-foot dock lines that day from Lightbourne Marina in Nassau to be shipped by boat to Great Harbour Cay the following week. You want twelve, Steven, you get twelve.

But, Steven also gave us great comfort talking about the previous hurricanes that had come straight over Great Harbour Cay: Hurricane Matthew which I mentioned in the article above in 2016, which was a Cat 4 with no damage, as well as Hurricane Andrew, which was a Cat 4 in 1992. During the entirety of those very deadly storms, no boats in Great Harbour Cay suffered any damage. The marina really has an impressive hurricane track record. But, aside from the marina itself, the people also gave Phillip and I great comfort.

Steven—he and I both enjoying the marina’s “grill night” on Friday’s (a choice of delicious barbecue pork or chicken made dock-side) and looking at Plaintiff’s Restin Slip No. 6—told me if a storm were to build and start heading their way that he would move our boat to the middle of Slip Nos. 6 and 7. He would then spider-web the lines out, attaching six of them to hold the boat secure in a normal rise and fall of the tide, and another six of them at a higher rise and fall if any of the first lines broke during a storm. Steven said he has a special “gang plank” (he calls it, jokingly) that he uses to get from the dock to a boat in the middle of two slips to secure all of the lines and make sure the boat is floating safely in the middle. I wasn’t ashamed at all. I hugged the man. I didn’t care if he wasn’t a hugger. I am, and in the moment that’s all that was called for. (And, I’ve generally found most men don’t mind a hug from a gal in a bikini ; ). Steven seemed to fall in that category as well.

Steven also asked me, which sounded more like a recommendation, about removing the bimini and dodger. “Oh, we’ll strip every last thing, don’t worry,” I told him, knowing Phillip and I planned to leave the boat completely hurricane-ready. Phillip and I had debated this in the days before we reached Great Harbour Cay, i.e., how much hurricane prep we would do before leaving her. And, I could easily say, after all of this tough decision-making, the last thing I wanted was to find myself back in Pensacola, the boat in the Bahamas with a hurricane bearing down on her, and thinking: I wish we would have removed that stack pack. Or raised those halyards to the top of the mast. Or, wrapped those lines around the binnacle. Or, taped all of the instrument covers on. Or … I could go on. That was the feeling we were trying to avoid. As I’ve mentioned, we believe hurricane survival is part tactical decision and part luck, so in the tactical-decision department, Phillip and I wanted to give our boat the best odds possible.

Main sail on the cabin floor. It’s a ton of work but the peace of mind is totally worth it!

Thankfully, we have done the hurricane-prep drill many times (and I’ve written out our entire process here if you are interested) and, thankfully, it has only ever been a drill … knock on wood. But, because we have, we knew what all needed to be done. When it comes to preparing Plaintiff’s Rest for a hurricane, Phillip and drop everything—the sails, the stack pack, the dodger, the bimini. We bring as many halyards up the mast as possible (using long dyneema messenger lines) and wrap, or bag up and tape, the remaining lines as much as possible. We cover and tape the instruments. We cover and tape the companionway opening. We ziptie the dodger and bimini frame secure. Feel free to read the article above for more hurricane prep tips. We’re pretty fanatic about it. And, for good reason. Have you seen our gorgeous boat! : )

Photos from our hurricane prep in Great Harbour Cay in May, 2019:

I assured Steven our boat would be completely stripped, 100% hurricane ready, which seemed to give him comfort as well. I could imagine being a dockmaster and dealing with a boat left behind that is not hurricane ready must cause him a great deal of stress as it would leave him worrying not only about the condition of the non-prepped boat, but also its then-ability to potentially cause damage to nearby fully-prepped boats. I do not envy any dockmaster their job when a storm is coming. This brief conversation with Steven gave me a fascinating glimpse into the stressors of his position and I was impressed with everything he has to handle in that situation.

So, Great Harbour Cay. We cannot recommend it highly enough as a secure, reliable hurricane hole in the Bahamas. It is also a very welcoming little island with plenty to do: a handful of fun little bars and restaurants, plenty of diving and snorkeling, a great shelling beach on the north shore, a spooky “shark river,” and a great little grocery. Not to mention the marina is very clean with decent wifi, laundry, and shuttle service when available. GHC has lots to offer for a week stay.

But, now that you know the decision process and everything Phillip and I went through to try and keep our boat secure during hurricane season this year, you now also know the frightening reality (which we decided not to share publicly) of where she was when Hurricane Dorian hit. In September, 2019, Phillip and I could only watch and wish the staff at Great Harbour Cay Marina and our baby girl the best as that monstrous, slow-moving, massive Cat 5 was headed straight for the northern Berry Islands, Bahamas.

Next up on the blog, we will share Plaintiff’s Rest’s experience when Hurricane Dorian hit. It’s one helluva tale. Hurricanes … uggh. I’m so glad the 2019 season is over!

Back to the Berries: Our Most Isolated and Inundated Stops

November 16, 2019anniedike

I would have never thought I would use the word “inundated” when describing the Berry Islands, but unfortunately, one of them is. Have any of you seen Coco Cay? Formerly Little Stirrup Island, the island was purchased by Carnival Cruise Lines and turned into just that: a carnival.

We’ll get there.

Thankfully, many of the other islands of the Berries remain untouched and exude the quiet, serene calm that Phillip and I love about the Berry Islands. The one we stopped at first after leaving Warderick Wells Cay on a nice overnight run to the Berries was just that: quiet and picture-perfect Little Harbour Cay. Proof, we had the place ALL to ourselves:

And, it was a place we had never heard of before and likely never would have stopped at had it not been so heartily recommended by a fellow cruising friend (shout-out to Pensacola sailor, BaBaLu!).

That is one of the very cool things about meeting new cruisers: they often help you find new tucked-away little anchorages you might have never found otherwise. So, before I tell you about Little Harbour Cay, let me tell you a little about the sailor who recommended the place to us: Captain Bob Fleege, better known to Pensacola locals as “BaBaLu.” (Seriously, you say that name in cruising circles around here and everyone knows who you’re talking about.) BaBaLu sails on an exquisite Catalina 34, s/v Partager (which means “to share” in French and boy does he!). And, just like the French, he kisses, too!

This is Bob greeting me in front of his boat at the shipyard. While we knew BaBaLu in passing (as the Pensacola cruising community is delightfully small), we got to know him much better (as you always do) when we were both on the hard in the Pensacola Shipyard back in 2016 when Phillip and I spent a grueling three months re-building our rotten mast stringers and changing our old rod rigging to wire. Whew, that was some serious time on the hill! Bob was hauled out, too, replacing his auto-pilot and some electronics and he was gracious enough to let me film a tour of his exquisite Catalina 34 while we were there. BaBaLu’s was Boat Tour No. 2 at HaveWind!

Bob was cheering there after having just crawled out of this hole … if you can believe it.

Believe it …

BaBaLu also appeared in our Second Annual Boozer Cruiser when we picked him up aboard s/v Partager to dinghy him around for a night of boat-to-boat, boozing fun! Bob had just come out to drop the hook for the night—with no idea that we had a Progressive Boozer Cruiser, costume-required, evening at the anchorage planned. But, that didn’t deter him one bit. As a cruiser, Bob is always prepared. (I couldn’t NOT share this clip with you : ). According to Phillip, the First Rule of Cruising is …

Good times! Aside from seeing him often in Pensacola out at Ft. McRee, Red Fish, and Pirate’s Cove, we’ve met up with BaBaLu down in Key West in 2014, as well, when he was there when he was down for his annual cruise staying at A&B Marina.

Bob sails his Catalina down the west coast of Florida to Cuba, Mexico, and often the Bahamas every year. So, he has a lot of great recommendations for anchorages, marinas, restaurants, and (his favorite) tiki bars along those parts. Following and texting us via our Delorme last year, when BaBaLu saw that we were leaving the Exumas to head back to the Berry Islands, he told us we had (“simply had!”) to stop at Little Harbour Cay, drop the hook (“for the day at least!”), and dinghy up the inlet to Aunt Flo’s Conch Bar for “the best cracked conch in the Bahamas!” That’s a pretty bold statement. One Phillip does not take lightly. Or, at face value. We decided we needed to verify Bob’s promise for ourselves. For … scientific accuracy, not because we love cracked conch.

Little Harbour Cay is one of the long narrow islands in the Berries between Chub Cay to the south and Great Harbour Cay to the north.

Phillip and I would likely not have stopped there if it hadn’t been for Bob’s recommendation because we didn’t know there was an anchorage there and we had no idea there was a restaurant. But, after a nice, peaceful overnight from the Exumas across the Tongue of the Ocean, we meandered in to Little Harbour Cay and were thrilled to find this little gem.

It was a beautiful blue-water spot with gorgeous green and navy waters, a protected little anchorage with plenty of depth, and some fun inlets to poke around in on the dinghy. Not to mention Flo’s Conch Bar just a short dinghy ride up the way.

But, I do have to break some sad news to you. We didn’t get any conch at Aunt Flo’s Conch Bar. I know … it was a travesty! But, it was entirely our own faults. Bob had told us in a text to “call ahead and order the cracked conch.” We figured Bob just liked to have his lunch hot and ready when he got there. He’s quite organized like that. Not being as particular—and happy to wait for home-cooked food in a fun, new place—Phillip and I just dinghied in, planning to order when we got there. Well … we can’t fault Bob for it. He tried to tell us. We just didn’t know “call ahead” meant “if you don’t, they won’t have conch for you.” At least for us they did not. We got there around 2:30 p.m. and chatted a bit with this guy in the kitchen who was trying to fix a flashlight with some wire and duct tape. He wasn’t very talkative, but he was friendly and nice enough to let us know they only cooked conch for you if you called it in by 11:00 a.m. Like the Seinfeld soup kitchen, it was “No conch for you!”

But, as I mentioned, that was our fault. Aunt Flo, we’ll be back! And, we’ll call ahead next time! What was really cool, though, was the little surprise I found there on the wall at Aunt Flo’s. Here, I’ll give you a little 360 of the place so you can see what Aunt Flo’s Conch Bar looks like.

There are so many of these little Mom-and-Pop type fried conch restaurants in the Bahamas, and many of them have lots of local memorabilia tacked up on the walls—shirts, boat flags and pennants, signed dollar bills, you name it. And, I was just moseying around while Phillip was sipping his rum drink talking to the Flashlight Fix-it guy and look what I found on the wall!

BaBaLu’s boat signature that he had left there about a month before us in April, 2019! S/v Partager was here! : )

Little Harbour Cay was definitely a fun little surprise and a nice welcome back to the Berries. Our first time there, back in 2018, we had pulled into Frazer’s Hog Cay, just because it looked like the most protected spot for a blow we were expecting, that was all, but it turned out to be the most memorable stop of our Abacos cruise in the winter of 2017-2018. Why? Because of the people! It’s always the people! That’s when we met the infamous Pat and Steve who I wrote about on the blog and in SAIL Magazine.

Steve and Pat made the Berries an unforgettable special stop for me and Phillip back in 2018, and we were excited to now log a new Berries story in our belt. “Aunt Flo, Conch No” we’ll call it : ). Despite our Flo flub, though, Little Harbour Cay was our most isolated, wonderful stop in the Berry Islands this past year.

Leaving Little Harbour Cay, however, and making our way north toward Great Stirrup and Great Harbour Cay in the Berry Islands, Phillip and I encountered the most inundated island in the Berries. We had a nice sail up north that day and decided to get the stainless polished up while we were underway.

I didn’t know if it was the Collinite fumes or the heat, but I thought I was seeing things. As we were sailing on the Atlantic side past Devil’s Cay then Hoffman’s Cay, we were stunned to see what looked to be an alien monstrosity start to materialize on the horizon. I really didn’t know what I was looking at for a while. It looked like a County State Fair right there on the Atlantic. There was a looping, towering structure that mimicked an amusement park ride, a hot air balloon in the air, lots of flags flailing, what appeared to be towers with zip lines. It was insane!

As Phillip and I began to make our way closer, we realized we were seeing exactly what we thought we were seeing: a carnival on the water. Carnival Cruise Lines bought this island and converted it into exactly what you would expect a Carnival island to look like. I’m sorry, but as a purist and fan of natural Bahamian beauty, I felt like Coco Cay was an absolute monstrosity in the Bahamas.

I’m sure it’s fun. I’m sure the drinks are tasty (and pricy). And, I’m sure many people have a great time there. But, it’s all so … concocted. It’s taking American ideas of “fun” and “vacation” and imposing it on what was once a beautiful, pristine island landscape. Little Stirrup and Great Stirrup are now private islands that you can’t event dinghy up to and simply step ashore and enjoy, which is sad. I honestly thought a good bit about Terry Jo Duperrault and her mesmerizing Alone: Orphaned at Sea story (which I had read during our passage over to the Bahamas that year) because her family, while cruising the Bahamas in 1961, had stopped at Little Stirrup Cay, when it was an untouched Bahamian gem of an island. If only Terry could see this now, I thought. Coco Cay is quite shocking.

Phillip and I circled around Little Stirrup and headed into the inlet on the Atlantic side of Great Harbour Cay to drop the hook for the evening. Unfortunately, the anchorage did not offer the same serene charm as Little Harbour Cay with all of the Coco Cay “excursions” that were running about. We had jet skis circling us all afternoon and power boats zipping from island to island, chock full of Carnival cruisers. But, Phillip and I were there for a reason. We needed to scrub the bottom. We had been doing the bottom on our own while cruising in the Bahamas, which proved to be a rather easy, gratifying project. We only have to do it once a month or so. It only requires a couple of Scotch Brites and some healthy lungs. Or our Mantus Snuba set-up, which gives us each 15 minutes on either side to scrub the bottom and is a great portable little dive rig. We call it “snuba” because it’s a nice hybrid between scuba-diving and snorkeling. Thank you Mantus for another great product!

Scrubbing the bottom ourselves also gives us comfort laying hands on our own hull and making sure she’s in good shape, i.e., there are no blisters forming, or big paint patches chipping off. I honestly rather enjoy it. And, I knew it would be a while before we would be doing it again, so it was kind of like giving Plaintiff’s Rest a little love pat on the bottom before leaving her. Phillip and I were scrubbing the bottom that day because we knew our next stop was going to be Plaintiff’s Rest’s home for hurricane season and we wanted to park her with a clean bottom.

Yep, you read that right. We did not sail our Niagara 35 back to Pensacola this past summer. While it was hard to do and a tough decision, it ended up being the right one for us and our boat. Thankfully … Next up on the blog, we will tell you all about the protected little hurricane hole in the Bahamas where we kept our baby girl this past season, where she weathered a massive storm that ravaged the Abacos only sixty miles to the north of her (Hurricane Dorian – uggh), and where she remained in incredibly-capable hands and under the watchful-eyes of amazingly gracious cruising friends. New ones at that! Cruising is most definitely all about the people. We have much to share about hurricane season this year. Stay tuned!