Back to Georgetown

After a crazy and fun two weeks in Georgetown, Bahamas during regatta week, we are peacefully anchored in Nurse Cay, Jumentos. Our position is posted on the ship trak link on our blog. The Jumentos, which means donkey in Spanish, is a string of virtually uninhabited islands closer to Cuba than the US. Prior to G/T, we were blessed by our dear friends, Chris and Kelly, Jack and Katie Case of Saratoga Springs, The weather cooperated and we enjoyed a few long sails interspersed with snorkeling, hunting, beach combing and great company. Their trip ended with two great days at Atlantis, a super-resort on Paradise Island. Las Vegas has nothing on this place, add to that the largest man-made marine habitat in the world along with literally miles of water park activities and you begin to understand what this Atlantis is like. Surrounded by mega and new giga (bigger yet) yachts whose expenses at Atlantis exceeded our yearly cruising budget, we hung our wet laundry out with pride. I tried to weasel my way onto Pegasus, a 200+ foot yacht that blocked our view, to no avail.

In Georgetown, we had to say goodbye to Mima who we had been cruising with for a year and a half. It was an emotional time but we know our paths will cross again. We enjoyed campfires, dinners, the coconut challenge, kids days and did a Tim Conway Dorf-on-Golf like skit with them. For those of you too young to remember, someone is behind you under a shirt with their arms as your arms and your arms are your legs. It is fun, physical comedy or it can bomb. Marc, Brad and kids have been doing a Johnny camper version at YMCA camp the last few years, so it gave us the idea. We performed "Stan and Lena come to Georgetown". Mark on Mima and I were a dysfunctional cruising couple from Minnesota with Marc and Susan as the arms. The kids passed up props like a mini mast and sail, fishing pole, radio, lipstick, shaving cream and razor, etc. The crowd loved it as we poked fun at the typical situations in the cruising community. Mima, being relative newbees to the Bahamas had to trust that the jokes were funny. When we get internet, we will post the video on the blog. In the end, we won 3rd place out of 15 groups. One couple stopped us and asked where we were from in Minnesota! First place was garnered by the French Canadians doing a Can Can for which that had transported complete costumes for 15 people. 2nd place were our friends, the family on Los Gatos. They did a Youtube inspired "Evolution of Dance" skit with their two daughters and mom and dad. Angie's Mom came for 10 of the days and was a fantastic boat guest.

Marc raced on Phoenix, an Ocean Cat 49 twice. The boat was owned by the Henry who built the only 10 Ocean Cats in existence. Marc calls it a Manta on steroids. After starting last and catching up to all the other boats, Marc decided to tack to get out in the ocean more, while all the other boats headed to shore. Unfortunately, the wind died and they were becalmed for 45 minutes while the others still had the wind. They were going so slow they could see lobsters in the water. So, they finished 5th out of 10 boats. Saturday we all raced around the harbor and finished 2nd in the Ocean Cat. The harbor race was crazy, with boats having to dodge anchored boats and lots of up wind sailing.. not good for a cat. We actually caught and dragged two marks that we had to round. So we got a bottle of rum for 2nd. Parker was the official door prize drawer for the race. He pulled out "Phoneix" and won the captain a beautiful watch. The next day, the captain gave it to Parker.. he has not taken it off.

The kids did well in the competition category in Georgetown. They got 1st in the coconut harvest, having to round up coconuts from a dingy with only used fins to propel the dingy. Parker came up with a sea monster idea for sand sculpture and won first with Sabrina, Kristen and Annie from Bird on a Wire, Geneva on GottaLife and Lee Ann, the only adult in the group. The judges were moved by the only true kid group vs. an adult group with kids thrown in as labor. The adults got second in the sand sculpture with a "Red Hot Knight", a knight with brandishing a sword with bulging muscles everywhere. The theme of the event was Red Hot Nights so we were trying to gain points. In the end we lost to Dog Beach. I think the fake dog poop made of sand and sea beans but them over the top. Alvina/Mom helped tremendously and got a 2nd place flag to take home. We did an encore presentation of Stan and Lena at the closing night ceremony with Chad and Lee Ann, a newlywed couple from Muskegon Michigan.

Our first day there, we won a snorkeling trip with 4 other couples on a high speed power boat. We stayed an extra day to take the trip..value $100 a piece. After waiting an acceptable amount of time to factor in "Mon, this is the Bahamas, mon", we called. The day was spent trying to track them down. As it was the first calm day in a while, they decided to make money vs. take a donated trip. So, Marc went snorkeling and got two huge lobsters and gave one to Mike on Los Gatos who went with him. With 300 boats in G/T, it was amazing there were any lobsters left. That night we did a huge group bonfire on the beach and had grilled lobster and veggies. Three guitars kept us all singing late into the night. It reminded us of the reasons we are out here, clean air, warm ocean breezes, new friends, and perfect smores, even with sticky marshmallows and stale cookies.

The next day, the Exuma tour people showed up early! The just in time Johnsons almost missed the boat as we were saying goodbye to friends. The trip was amazing, exploring all the local knowledge places near G/T that most of the 300+ boats and cruisers never see. I found and Marc shot another huge lobster!! After the trip we motored out of G/T, another emotional time for the kids. This is their favorite place on the planet.

Yesterday was the best day of fishing and hunting ever. Each kid shot a monster lobster with guidance from Dad. Marc found 3 more huge lobsters, a field of conch and we caught 4 fish on the way south without really trying. With the freezer over flowing, we continue to head south before lobster season closes in 7 days.

Parker's Lobster

 

 

 

Crash, Bang, Boom!

Twas the 9th night of December at around 11:00 at night. The wind was blowing steady; there was not a boat in sight. And so starts the story of our worst experience to date at sea.
“This has to be our best sail ever,” stated Marc earlier in the evening. We were cruising over the bottom at 9.5 knots, with a 1.5 knot favorable current. With the light of full moon and partly cloudy skies, the whitecaps of the breaking waves sparkled.
With an uncomfortable boat motion, the kids had chosen to sleep in the cockpit. The autopilot was handling the wind, 15-20 knots from forward of the beam. The predicted SE wind had not appeared yet. Having checked the radar, sail trim, and scanned the horizon, I stepped inside to make a log entry.
I was only inside a few minutes when the cascading series of huge crashes sent me outside. I instantly knew my worst fears had come true, the mast had come down. I asked the kids to put on their life jackets and get inside the boat. The boat motion settled to a gentle rocking in the sea as the huge white sails lay in the water like a blanket. Marc was up quickly and I said much more calmly than I felt, “the mast came down”, and I handed him a harness.
The kids were running in and outside, asking what to do and if we were going to be O.K. “I want to quit sailing! I don’t want to cross to Europe! Are we going to die?!” they screamed. We did what we could to assure them that we were going to be O.K. Give them a job I thought, so I asked them to plot our position in the log. I turned on the SSB and asked them to try to hail a station on 14300 and VHF channel 16 to report our position. That did not keep them busy for very long as no-one answered. So panic ensued again. I said, “Stay inside, stop panicking… and pray!” The NW Caribbean net had not asked if I wanted an evening check in and our buddy boat, Mima, was way ahead and had anchored in the lee of Cozumel for the night. It would be great to be able to give someone, anyone a position. We were totally and completely alone.
Marc stood motionless on the bow in the moonlight and pondering what to do. I was surprised as he is usually so quick to act. Having been brusquely awakened he was clearing his head and evaluating our options.
Marc asked me, “Do you want to try to save anything?” “The salty sailors that sell books tell tales of how they bring the mast along side the boat and somehow secure it. Then they drift to some uninhabited island, jury rig the stick back up with vines and tree roots and sail on to civilization.” He tries to budge the massive cat rig and deems this completely unrealistic and a further threat to the safety of Side-by-Side and its crew. It is night, the kids are panicking and the noise is deafening. The entire rig makes a rocking and grating motion on the toe rail and lifelines in the ocean swells.
“I don’t care about the money!” I scream. I can’t believe I said that.
He asked for the bolt cutters and a rigging knife. Of course, under stress I could not remember where the bolt cutters were. In a closet somewhere, but I picked the wrong closet. Marc produced them, cool as a cucumber. He was dismayed that his OMG rigging knife was not in its compartment under the chart table nor was there one in the bin at the helm! So where are they when you need them? Marc initially had to use a kitchen knife to cut away lines. Finally, Sabrina and I found a sailing knife which had worked its way to the back of the chart table.
We then strategized how to best jettison the rig into the ocean. It saddened us to waste a perfectly good mast, sails and rigging lying there because we had no ability to recover them. I began to strip the lines out of the clutches and blocks at the helm. I opened the tensioned main sheet clutch and the rig made a violent shift toward the abyss. The boom slid off the hardtop and was caught in the lifelines. Meanwhile, Marc was on the bow undoing the jib’s tack, cutting lines, and separating what was to go overboard. I then remembered to take the boat off autopilot. Waves rock us and the boom grates against our newly polished deck. Each horrendous noise brings a new round of panic from the kids. Bang, bang, grind, grate goes the mast which is looking like a huge sea-saw on our boat with the lifelines as the fulcrum. The waves would raise the mast up and down onto our deck like a menacing uninvited monster looming over our heads as we worked feverishly to rid ourselves of it.
At last, we had just the forestay, the port side-stay and a sail tensioned boom hung up in our lifelines. I got under the boom thinking I could steady it while Marc started to cut away the sail. It came down on my extended leg and ankle, pinning me to the deck.
“Get out of there!” Marc yelled. As the boom rose up with the next wave, I freed my leg. Deal with the pain later and address the issue, I thought. We now had a boom slowly rising up as the mast continued its desire to reach for the bottom. With concentration and clenched teeth I started the engines and began to slowly back the stern up into the wind. With the boat pressing up against the sails and rig in the water, it did not feel like we were going anywhere. Warily, Marc went forward, clipped the forestay and returned to the cockpit.
“Keep backing up to windward or this boom is going to come reaching into the cockpit and crush you, the helm and the hardtop.” With an eye on the boom rearing up alongside my head I accomplished the task at hand. Marc carefully guided it up and over the mangled lifelines to keep it from doing further damage to the vessel. Over the side it went with only a port stay between us and freedom. I slowed the engines.
Scrape under the water and clunk went the port prop. Neutral and starboard engine only! The mast was emitting a light hiss at was pulling its way deeper into the dark ocean. Marc inched his way along the port side, quietly knelt down and severed the last stay. He stood up with bolt cutters in hand mournfully watching as our beloved rig wafted away in search of the bottom of the great abyss.
All was quiet again as the moonlight danced across the rolling seas. Relief and grief overcame me. The family embraced said silent prayers of thanks. The kids were very loving and happy to be safe. In the face of life threatening adversity, we did what needed to be done and despite some bruises to our bodies and spirits we were going to be ok.

Shaken, thank-full to be ok and still with 120 miles to go, we motored on into the darkness.

Leaving Panama

After 3 months, we left Panama feeling as through we had seen the whole country. Our experiences with indigenous people left us a little less depressed while going over American History with Parker and Sabrina. At least some Indians survived the Europeans. In Panama, there are large sections of the country, the islands of the San Blas and the Mountains of the North East that are governed by indigenous tribes. Are they poor? Are they happy?, hard to say. They are friendly, curious and healthy looking. The Kuna seem to be the best organized with a strong sense of community with the Salis in charge. Cruisers we met were building a house in the Bocas del Toro area. Gringos are buying up land from indigenous folks for the climate, low cost of living and love of no-see-ums. I met the groundskeeper, his wife and 3 kids ages 4, 3, and 1 at a cruiser potluck at the cruiser home. Later I learned that the wife was 18, meaning that she had her first child at 14. As a mother, it was hard to imagine my daughter capable of marriage and kids in 5 more years. Without educational opportunities, that is the course their life takes.

Key West of Yesteryear

If ever there were another place like the Key West of yesteryear, it would have to be Bocas Del Toro (the mouth of the bull). One can’t help but smile in the laid back bohemian pedestrian based outpost of the Caribbean. Bocas got its start with the upstanding corporate citizens and land stewards, the United Fruit Company. Clearing huge tracks of rain forest, filling in the mangroves to build the town and employing workers at near slave labor wages and working conditions to bring you bananas. After abandoning the turn of the century outpost it fell into a state of despair and disrepair. Former cruisers and now marina operators stated that just 15 years ago they were the only boat to sail into this area. Since that time, this island outpost among hundreds of mangrove atolls, islands and mainland mountains has been “discovered”.

Today, Bocas is a backpacker’s destination via planes, buses, and or water taxis from the mainland. Activities are surfing, beaching, snorkeling, ethnic dining, tours, hiking, hippy culture, Rasta culture, art culture, bohemian culture, counter culture, indigenous culture, etc etc. By reading some of the tourism and real estate propaganda, you’d think the place has been overrun by Gringos. By the numbers there are only a few hundred residing in a region of over 10,000. But Gringos tend to leave a big footprint compared to the single room organic homes inhabited by the Indians. Many homes are large Panamanian style while others are Mc Mansions.

Today the Gringos more or less coexist with the locals. Through the centuries, the Indians have continued to lead sustainable lives fishing, hunting, planting and making babies. Everyday Indians paddling there hand carved log canoes to their fincas or settlement over the water coexist with Gringos that have restored and gentrified the once derelict colonial town. Just a few minutes by boat and you are transported deep into a maze of mangrove islands which you could meander through for days. And in that time you may come across an Indian fishing or a water taxi in the far off distance. The area is lush lush lush.

Escubo Veracus the Island that has it all

After goodbyes we left with another boat for a small indigenous island called Escubo Veracus. After the chief collected a $10 “voluntary” contribution, we explored the island and surrounding reefs. The kids enjoyed running the dingy up the breaking surf while I prayed the boat would not flip. The atoll formations were incredible with sheer faced races rising up out of the ocean. Next onto Bocas del Toro to meet back up with Mimi. Bocas del Toro is an area of several mangrove islands near the border of Costa Rica. The main town is a surfer hang-out with youth hostels, bars, street vendors, bikes and a bohemian feel. The main marina has no road access and everyone uses the lanchas or water taxis to get to the mainland and other islands. We enjoyed Bocas, esp Hotel Angela for good food and company. The kids loved the $5.00 breakfast buffet reminiscent of the Golden Coral. After a few days, we parked the boat and toured inland Panama. We will save those stories for another time.

Wakeboarding with the cros

What can we say about the Rio Charges, a beautiful natural reserve adjacent to the Canal fronted by Fort San Lorenzo. The Rio is historically significant as the start of Henry Morgan’s attack on Panama and destroying of Panama City. The fort fell to Henry with all souls lost, then ships proceeded up the Rio Charges to Panama City. With all the glorification of pirates in the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, during our frequent fort visits (there is one on every island and in every country) we have learned that pirates were nasty, murdering, stealing folks. In Portobello, the story goes, that they used the priests and nuns as human shields. Of course, the Spanish were “stealing” the gold from the lands they had conquered. Now the Rio is a peaceful river that we found hard to leave. Mornings spent listening to howlers jumping from the trees and tropical birds singing. Afternoons of wake boarding or swimming (in the middle of the river). Hike were capuchin monkeys, not in a zoo or movie, entertained us for several minutes. Parker and I even found time to do some watercolor painting. Our last night, our friend Michele helped us spot some crocs with their red eyes along the banks. The highlight, Marc persuaded the kids to hike down a gully and we hung out below 20 or so howler monkeys for close to an hour.