our first offshore sailing experience, pt. 2

(continued from here)

getting there

Our plans to get to the Bahamas were comprised of a patchwork quilt of airlines with flights landing in and taking off from all sorts of cities around the US before depositing us into Marsh Harbour on Great Abaco Island. The keystone flight in this byzantine plan was from Denver, CO to Ft. Lauderdale, FL on Frontier Airlines. 5 days prior to leaving, Frontier Airlines cheerfully notified us that they were no longer flying into Ft. Lauderdale and therefore, cancelling our flight. Always happy to help, Frontier generously offered to refund the cost of the flight, never mind that we now had an North America-sized gap in our itinerary. Continental Airlines rolled it's eyes at Frontier and stepped in to save they day. The Continental agent booked us on flights from Seattle all the way through to Marsh Harbour without fuss or fanfare.

Lesson learned. Frontier == the suck. Continental == way better.

We landed in Marsh Harbour on Saturday afternoon and were met outside the airport by a pre-arranged taxi driver holding a sign with our names on it. I've always wondered what it's like to be one of those people who have drivers waiting specifically for you. Especially drivers who are sweet and pretty and smile and talk and laugh with you while she drives. This really ruined all of my past body-odor-and-pine-sol taxi experiences.

man o' war cay

We were whisked off to the Moorings marina where we were met by Christy's dad, Carl. As this was the first meeting with either of Christy's parents, I took particular note of the fact that Carl had just recently purchased a machete. "For opening coconuts", he said. I'm not nervous.

Carl led us down a maze of docks towards the end where Bright Ayes awaited. She's a beautiful shiny Caliber 47 LRC (Long Range Cruiser), cutter-rigged and center cockpit. After introductions with the owner, Wayne, we went through a briefing on the boat and stowed our gear in the forward stateroom. Afterwards, we shoved off from the dock and quickly anchored out in the harbor. We all hopped in the dinghy and ran to shore to grab the last of the required provisions from one of the few, good grocery stores in the Bahamas.


Bright Ayes at anchor.

Upon arriving back at Bright Ayes, we made ready for sail. Both Wayne and Carl were in the Navy aboard nuclear submarines and Wayne runs his boat with a few holdovers from the Navy days. The etymology of the name Bright Ayes goes back to the Navy tradition of responding to a command by repeating the command followed by "aye". So after each command given, we were to repeat the command back followed by "aye". We fell lockstep into this pattern and now, two weeks later we still "pass the salt and pepper, aye".

I took over the helm as we raised anchor and Wayne guided me from the bow via radio headsets.

Wayne: "Steer two six zero."

Me: "Steering two six zero, aye."

[pause]

Wayne: "You went passed 260, didn't you?"

Me: "Um, aye?"

We motored out of the harbor and raised sail on a quick reach across Abaco Straight towards Man O' War Cay (pronounced "key", not "kay"; only yokels pronounce it "kay", ask me how I know).


"Machete" Carl hanging out in the cockpit on our sail over to Man O' War Cay.

We were headed to Man O' War Cay where friends of Carl and Anne (Christy's mom who will make an appearance later in our story) have a beautiful compound-esque house looking out onto the Atlantic Ocean. Man O' War Cay is a small island east of Marsh Harbour where the only transportation is golf carts.


Being welcomed into the harbor at Man O' War Cay.


Wayne wrangling the dinghy.


Lest we get lost, a map!


The main transportational arterial on MOW Cay, also known as The Queens Highway.

We settled into the Dune House portion of the compound which sits (surprise!) on top of a dune. The upper deck looks out over the Atlantic Ocean which makes it a great spot of for sunrises. We scrounged the neighborhood for coconuts and found three good candidates for whacking. Apparently, Carl really did buy the machete for opening coconuts. I totally wasn't nervous.


The lower room in the Dune House.


Deck overlooking the Atlantic.


Coconut harvest.


Carl showing us how to get into a coconut with a machete.


Christy giving a coconut what for.

sandy cay

After spending a relaxing evening in the Dune House, we dinghyed back to Bright Ayes and got her ready for a sail south to Sandy Cay. Our plan was to kill off the day snorkeling at a reef down in Sandy Cay to give some weather north of us time to clear out. Around dinner time, we'd start the journey back north - destination: New Jersey. After a great three hour sail south, we arrived at Sandy Cay. A quick lunch and then we all threw on snorkel gear and hopped in the water. First sea life we see when we approach the reef? A shark. Did I get a picture? No, of course I didn't.


This particular ship didn't quit make it past the opening in the reef between the Straight of Abaco and the Atlantic. Apparently, it's been there for the last 18 months.


Here's some coral and... uh, other stuff.


Here's a fish.


Some more coral. I think. Or maybe it's a mushroom. What am I, Jacques Cousteau?


Christy getting her snorkel on.


We saw three of these guys flying in formation.


Carl cruising the coral.


Wayne just hanging out.

UP NEXT: the mighty Atlantic Ocean and how she made us her bitches. Stay tuned!

our first offshore sailing experience, pt. 1

I don't have the time to do a full write up of our trip sailing from the Bahamas to the Virginia ("What happened to NJ?" you say? Well, that comes in the next blog post) so I'll throw out a few lists and facts as an executive summary and follow up later on this week with a full report.

Here's a list of things Christy threw up the first 2 1/2 days at sea:

• one ham sandwich


• three peanut butter crackers


• an apple


• 21 saltines


• an anti-seasickness pill (Irony - you are a cruel mistress)


• Christmas dinner, 2007


• one pair of Keen sandals, green


• 8 bucks in Sacajawea dollar coins (dibs!)


• and a partridge in a pear tree

Now, I know what you're thinking: Jason, you steely-eyed man of action - you never once got seasick! Well, ahem. Rather than mete out my vomit in polite deliveries into the galley sink or overboard over the course of a few days like Christy, I chose to save it all up into one single gastronomical Pompeii all over Christy, the cockpit, starboard side deck, and lifelines. And I still ejected enough detritus overboard to create a navigation hazard. So if you're currently sailing the Gulf Stream, keep a weather eye out for Puke Island.

Here's a list of things I smashed with my ass while flying from the port side of the boat to the starboard side of the boat after we plowed into a particularly disgruntled wave:

• starboard hanging locker door


• my ego

Some fun facts:

• number of sharks seen while snorkeling: 1


• number of times I touched the GPS screen after distinctly being told not to: 2


• highest wind speed seen on the anemometer: 36 knots


• highest wave height experienced: 18 feet


• highest wave height experienced according to my estimation: 70 feet


• number of times Christy flew off the starboard settee while her dad, Carl, and I changed tacks without warning her: 1


• number of times Carl and I unfurled the staysail only to immediately refurl it back in (average per watch): 24.5


• number of coconuts jettisoned off Virginia Beach to avoid the wrath of U.S. Customs: 12


• amount of produce frantically shoved into our mouths as three armed U.S. Customs officials walked down the dock towards our boat (in pounds): 8


• amount of pleasure from inhaling the first Dairy Queen milkshake upon landing in Norfolk, VA after 6 days at sea: not numerically quantifiable

That's all for now. All kidding aside, it was a great trip, lots of fun and we gleaned buckets of information. More to come when I get the pictures uploaded and a little time to sort out the trip in my head.

(continued here)

island time

Our flight leaves at 11:45PM tonight. If Christy had her way, we'd be at the airport at 11:35PM. If I had my way, we'd be at the airport at noon. But once the last of three flights touches down in Marsh Harbour, time will be much less meaningful. We'll be on Bahamas time. Island time. Time for a nap on the beach time.

Not for long, though. Once a weather window opens, we'll be hopping onto a 47' center cockpit Caliber called 'Bright Ayes' and sailing north to New Jersey with Christy's dad and the owner of Bright Ayes, Wayne. Check out their blog here.

We'll be taking lots of pics on the way and post them when we get back. Can't wait can't wait can't wait!

playing doctor

Christy and I spent the weekend in a Medical Care for Long Distance Sailors and Wilderness First Aid class. It was taught by a local retired vascular surgeon. He was a fantastic teacher and led a brilliant class. He brought in pig bellies, excuse me, porcine models so we could practice slicing and poking and suturing and stapling. Here's a small sample of things we discussed:

• how to insert a chest tube to reinflate a collapsed lung


• how to set a femur back into a hip socket


• how to give injections of local anesthesia


• how to staple a laceration shut (friggin' cool)


• how to deal with a hemmorhoid (not friggin' cool, especially the pictures)

Ask us what we can do with a Foley catheter, hehehe.

Of course, this training only very absotively brushes the surface of what we should know to reasonably take care of someone. But the idea behind the class is that if you're 1800 miles off the coast of Mexico or 22 miles back into the North Cascades, what are ya gonna do? What are ya gonna do?

This class + good first aid kit + good reference books = better than a poke in the eye.


I got to practice my plaster casting skills on Christy's wrist.


Won't somebody think of the children?


A one-legged man in a butt kicking contest.


In case you can't tell, that's a putter that my leg is splinted to.

bareboatin'

We did our bareboat charter class this weekend. Wicked fun. We provisioned the boat Friday morning and practiced some docking-without-crashing maneuvers. Of the two types of docking, apparently this is the preferred method.

We then pointed our J35C out into the Sound and beat into a south wind all the way to Eagle Harbor on Bainbridge Island where docked at the marina and holed up for the night.

The next morning, we motored south through Rich Passage and on into Port Orchard. We hoisted sails here for a nice broad reach to the north until we landed in Liberty Bay. We anchored outside of Poulsbo and rowed our hapless little dinghy ashore for some good Scandenavian fun in downtown swinging Poulsbo. Afterwards, we motored south about a mile and anchored up again for a good nights sleep.

The next day we came back through Agate Passage, Port Madison and back into Puget Sound. We beat down the west side, crossed the shipping channel without getting run over, waved at the seal lions hanging out on the mid-channel bouy, and ran back up the east side to Shilshole.

Great fun but also a huge confidence boost for me. I would wake up at 3AM stressed out about the notion of docking a 40' boat. Once we hoik up money for a boat, I'll probably still stress about it but I just feel so much better about it after this experience. We had a great instructor and fun people to sail with.

I wanna go back.


Skirting south of the Bainbridge ferry.


Our instructor, Pierre, and Christy checking out wind direction.


s/v Astraea nestled onto an end tie in Eagle Harbor.


Cute.


Pierre and Shawn (at the helm) spot a mooring bouy in Rich Passage.


Christy driving.




Astraea anchored up outside of Poulsbo.


"To Poulsbo, Jeeves!"




Steve was so gracious as to row our lazy asses into Poulsbo.




Where in the hell is that dinghy dock??


Poulsbo Marina.


The brain trust calculating our next morning's passage. From left to right: Pierre, Steve, Shawn.


If I knew math was involved, I might have thought twice about taking up sailing.


Fun!


Shawn has been fishing in Alaska for the last 12 years so he knows a thing or two about boats. Here, he's showing Pierre how to do a back splice.


They expressed their displeasure in when we interrupted their nap.


Hanging out Ray's afterwards for some cold beer.

offshore cruising seminar

We attended the Offshore Cruising Seminar from John and Amanda Neal this weekend. Learned alot and threw buckets of gas on the fire. Like we needed any more motivation. Just a few snippets of what we learned:

• Emergen-C packets work for seasickness


• Pelican cases make great ditch bags


• write up a sail reduction plan, at what windspeed do reefs get put in and working sails swapped out for storm sails, etc


• charts, be they electronic or paper, are consistently inaccurate! navigate with your eyes

We also ponied up $350 as a consultation fee for them to help with our boat selection. He's already got us looking at a few boats which we hadn't considered including:

• Waquiez Pretorian - not sure how offshore capable they are


• Pearson 424 - 42 feet is ha-yuge!


• Pacific Seacraft 37 - he said these are slow boats though


• Espirit 37 - by Bob Perry, supposedly a fast boat

Best moment of the whole seminar. John asks everyone who's leaving within a year to stand up. We do. In turn he asks everyone who stands up where they are going and what kind of boat they have.

me: "We're going to Mexico for starters and then we'll decide if we turn right or left."

John: "What kind of boat do you have?"

me: "We don't have a boat."

everyone in the room: [gales of laughter]

John: "Wow. You guys deserve a hat."

So we are now the proud owners of a 48 Degrees North hat courtesy of John and Amanda Swan in honor of having The Most Ridiculous Plan In The Room.