Shake and Break Part 13 - August 6 2015

We left you as we reconnected to the same mooring we'd left only 6 weeks
earlier, in Vero Beach. If you've been with us recently, you know that our
return was to tend to Lydia's mother (Louise) following her discharge from
both the hospital and the skilled nursing portion of the senior citizen
center where she lives independently in a cottage.

That was following a Gulf Stream crossing made tense only because our
chartplotter - sort of like what folks call a GPS in a car - refused to let
us look ahead to the West - which, of course, was the direction we were
heading - without doing a Columbus and moving our cursor east until we got
to where we wanted to look at. The crossing itself was nearly ideal. The
wind remained in such a position as to keep us pointed in the best direction
for our travel, and because it was relatively light, conditions were benign.

And, of course, a few other broken things we mentioned along the way, which
has turned into the norm these last couple of years.

No sooner had we landed than we headed out to Target to get a fancy blow-up
bed for the cottage's office; the rehab team didn't want us to not be
resident during the outpatient portion of Louise' therapy. Aside from the
first bed losing air, and putting us on the ground (Target refunded; we
chose another model), all went well there.

However, there were a few other items to address in that time, before we
could leave again. As it's nearly all just working on parts, I'll save you
the gory details other than to say:

The chartplotter went back to the manufacturer; a faulty ribbon cable was
replaced, and on reinstallation, all was well. We have several other means
of navigation, but none which is as helpful as this, so we breathed a huge
sigh of relief; this unit is long out of production, and at some point, if
it needs repair, we'll have to replace it with some other used unit of
unknown longevity. But for now, all was well.

We wound up getting a new muffler; the old one was too far gone. Because the
outlet was a different size than what we had, a trea$ure hunt en$ued, ending
with our finding the correct adapter$ at a local surplus shop.

The cooling water pump for the refrigeration was also dead, and replaced;
the old one is off for post-mortem diagnosis with the manufacturer. The
refrigerator/freezer continues to gobble electrons, but works well
otherwise.

Our KISS wind generator got new thermostatic interrupts (it shuts down the
power if the unit overheats) courtesy of its easy-to-rebuild character, and
we were once again enjoying free wind power.

Our special modem which we use with our high-frequency radio proved to be
inoperative; it's what allows us to do email when we are far at sea. It
went back to the manufacturer for a software update, and awaits our return
for reinstallation and testing.

We wanted to do some improvements to our Shade Tree awnings; they look a bit
like a Conestoga wagon when they're installed. Attempting to sew those
straps which would make our three sections behave more like a single unit
revealed that there were problems with our Sail-Rite industrial-grade sewing
machine. They got worse the further we went, until, on the LAST strap, it
finally gave up. Much gnashing of teeth ensued as we did everything the
manual and in-house videos suggested, to no avail. A local canvas guy
(HIGHLY recommended if you're in Vero Beach: Tony at Latitude 27)
volunteered to have a look when we brought that last item, along with a wind
scoop which was next on our repair list. In the course of our time there,
we got it working, and later, also tweaked it to perfection. Whew!

In the meantime, Lydia was becoming a master gardener while Louise, a
lifelong unbelievably fast healer, did just that, even after her double
surgery. So, finally cleared to leave by the medical folk, we again engaged
our local diver to clean off the horrible growth which had accumulated in
the 6 weeks we had been there, and we wanted to remove, clean, and reinstall
our presumed-fouled speed impellers just before we left.

Our impellers (water runs by paddlewheels, which tells the instrument how
fast we're moving through the water) were indeed badly fouled, just like our
hull under water. They were pulled out, cleaned, and awaited restoration
just before we left.

Oops. The forward one had some form of hangup, requiring a great deal of
effort to remove. Worse, once out, the plug wouldn't go back in. The flap
which is integral to the tube into which we stick our impeller prevents more
than just a trickle of water to enter when it's out (we use a blank to plug
it when we remove an impeller) apparently was fouled in the tube. You
wouldn't believe how much water can come into a boat when there's a 1" hole
3 feet under water! We thought we might have to call our local diver for an
emergency plug. Otherwise, I was going to have to remain there, holding the
blank in place, partly down, to minimize the incoming water. He, however,
was unavailable, leading us to our own devices.

Eventually, I rooted around in there with a very long screwdriver, ignoring
the fountain which arose, and managed to dislodge it, allowing our blank to
fully insert, plugging it up. The next time we're on the ground (hauled out
for whatever reason) I'll see if that flap can be replaced. In the
meantime, replacing the impeller every time we remove it to prevent growth
will involve a gusher between it and the blank. However, our bilge pumps
easily cope with that amount of water, and the bilge, normally dry, gets a
nice rinse.

So, our diver cleans the bottom, we clean and reinstall our impellers, and
we're off to the races again on July 27th, to our staging spot in Fort
Pierce, and departure on the 28th. We take the outgoing tide at 11AM. With
main and staysail up, we sail off our anchor and are outside by 11:15,
helped by our clean-bottom STW of 8 knots, enhanced by the current to 11+
knots SOG. Once out, we put up the genoa, trimmed our running backstay (for
keeping the mast straight under the pressure of the staysail) and headed as
far south as we could get, and the best speed, before encountering the Gulf
Stream. Making as much of our southing as possible early on would mean that
we might not have to go south to get onto the Little Bahamas Banks, our
target for entry into Bahamian waters, once we were out of the Gulf Stream.

Heading 150°T, with a resulting COG of 140°T, we were on a beam reach - the
fastest point of sail - and thrilled with our progress. Depending on which
of our speed indicators you believe, we were making 9.8-12.0 knots STW.
Approaching the edge of the Gulf stream meant we had a slight current
against us, but we still averaged more than 7 knots SOG, despite an apparent
wind of under 10 knots.

Of course, everything is subject to change, and by 2PM, we were in the Gulf
Stream after gaining about 18 miles of southing as we moved southeast. The
wind picked up, and we saw a squall line in the distance. We rolled in the
Genoa, and let out both the main and staysail while we ran before the
40-knot squall. Another Shake and Break, the wind indicator suddenly goes
100° off true. That's a problem, as we want to keep the wind about 120-150°,
at our stern, and there's no frame of reference other than to keep looking
up at the indicator atop the mast. One (relatively gentle) crash jibe and a
very strong push-over (not a knockdown by any stretch) during our tack to
regain our heading aside, we managed just fine, and flew along before the
storm. It blew itself out shortly, and we resumed our plan.

That was to take the best point of sail which would allow anything east or
southeast; as we weren't in any hurry, and our southing should allow us to
meet an ideal entry point, we head 119°T, yielding a north-flowing Gulf
Stream's 070°T COG at between 7-8 knots SOG on our beam reach. At this rate,
we'll gain our entry onto the banks shortly before dark. Indeed, we anchor
on the Mantanilla banks at 10PM, in 20' of water.

With 16 knots of wind, there is a HORRIBLE rock 'n' roll, making Lydia sick
for the first time since we left. Enough of this, we pull the anchor and
head out again at 11PM. As we're trimming the sails under our deck lights,
dolphins play alongside, perhaps attracted by the light. A very nice sendoff
from a very uncomfortable anchorage!

We ghosted along with 9 knots of wind at an apparent 120° on our starboard
stern. Headed at 120T°, we made 105T°. Fighting the outgoing tide, we were
making only 5.5 knots SOG against our STW of 6.5. The current held us
beam-to on the waves, which made for an uncomfortable roll, but it was a
very gentle ride. Around 12:20AM we saw LOTS of heat lightning in the
clouds all around us. We never heard any thunder, but we turned on the
radar, anyway. NO activity within 24 miles, so we relaxed a bit. Later,
we'd watch several squalls trying to approach, but none got within 6 miles
of us, despite the entertaining light show in excellent visibility.

Those, however, caused the wind to back, and suddenly we were having to
reach as much as we'd been running, because it was now at 60° apparent wind.
We continued our heading of 124°T, but slid to 98°T COG as we made our
comfortable 5.6 knots SOG. Of course, a squall-line induced wind shift will
go away with the squall, so we were soon back at 120° apparent wind, which
wandered around constantly, requiring diligent attention in order to keep
the wind behind only ONE side of the boat. Otherwise, a crash jibe (a
sudden unintended shift of the mainsail from one side to the other, caused
by having the trailing edge at the wrong angle to the wind catching it and
slamming it over) was in the cards. An otherwise easy sail concluded with
our dropping our anchor at Little Sale Cay at 9AM.

I'd spoken with Chris Parker, our weather guru, on his morning forecast over
the SSB radio, and heard a friend hail him also. Calling him after the
forecast, on the same frequency, revealed that he wasn't very far north of
us, and had a perfect anchorage, and great spearfishing to show us. So, by
noon, we were under way to Grand Cay, a short 13 miles away.

Our friend guided us to where we could anchor in order to check in.
Normally, in this area, Customs and Immigration have been on Walker Cay, the
last major island in the chain going northwest, but having suffered major
damage during a recent hurricane, unless there's an airplane arriving there,
all C&I business is being done in a temporary location in Grand Cay. They're
hopeful that they will be able to make it a permanent fixture, both because
the Walker Cay situation, should someone buy it, is relatively dire, with
many sunken boats and the total destruction of the marina requiring
resolution before rebuilding can start, which will mean a long time before
normal business can resume on Walker Cay, and because it would drive
additional business to Grand Cay.

Following our guide's instructions, after we'd lowered our dinghy and
installed the fuel and engine, we quickly went on the winding path into the
harbor. There was no obvious place for us to go with our dinghy, but we
asked the folks at the first dock where to go. They told us, but invited us
to tie up to their dock and walk up the hill, which would lead us directly
to the Post Office, in which a spare room was allocated to Customs and
Immigration. So, we did just that.

Bahamas immigration has a 90-day window in which your boat can leave the
Bahamas and return, once, without incurring a new entry charge for the
cruising permit. Unfortunately for us, that was 12 days ago, and we
reluctantly paid another $300 for another 1-year cruising permit. We were
given only a 60 day visa, too, as we expected to be back in the US before
the end of September. But we were again legally able to set foot ashore, and
we took down our yellow "Q" (signal flag of the letter Q, but also a
quarantine notice for boats which had not checked in) and hoisted our
Bahamian courtesy flag. That lets others know that we (say, at least, that
we) have checked in and are under a valid cruising permit.

By 4:30, we were back aboard Flying Pig, and got under way for the narrow
channel leading up to the entrance to Wells Bay. Our friends had been there
for nearly a month; they tell us that this is their very favorite place in
the Bahamas. And, in fact, they'd just returned from hunting, despite a
renegade charter having vacuumed up most of the lobster hideouts they'd been
tracking all month, illegally, on the day before Opening Day of August 1st,
where they (even so) got so much lobster that they gave us 5 tails for our
dinner.

After exploring the beach for a day, we took our dinghy on the mile-or-so
trip to town, to get acquainted with the local folk. We went to Rosie's
Place - a marina and restaurant - and tied up at a dinghy dock. No sooner
do we start to walk toward the town's street do we encounter Rosie himself.
He immediately, of course, recognizes us for cruisers, so when we ask him
what we should look for as we walk around town, he asks where we're parked.
We show him, and one of his employees had already moved us to a marina slot
as he told us to take any spot we wanted.

We also asked where to get gasoline, as he was the vendor of that, too.
"None until tomorrow - tanks are empty." Hm. Well, we'll have to come back.
The season for sportfisher boats and fishermen is in full swing, and they'd
cleaned him out the previous day. I have no idea how he gets restocked, but
that wouldn't happen until early the next day. So, we'd have to come
back...

Thanking him after an exchange of cards (cruisers usually carry 'boat
cards' - the cruisers' equivalent of a business card), we headed up the
ramp. As we look both ways on the street, we hear hammering, and see a guy
just finishing up and stowing his hammer and tools. We asked him, too, what
to see.

He suggested we go to a gazebo, and talk. "Boss" regaled us with his story
and the local things we should look for. He also stopped and said, "Have
you had lunch? (It wasn't even noon yet.) (No) "What are you going to do
for lunch?" (Probably go back to the boat and have a Zone Bar.) "No, you're
not. You're having lobster!" (How much will that cost us?) "Nothing. I'll
give it to you. I'm a fisherman; I have plenty to spare."

He went on to describe where to find his house, immediately opposite "The
Decision Tree" - a large tree surrounded by a bench, around which locals
would gather for discussion and the occasional town meeting - which he was
rebuilding, it having burned along with 15 others when a house caught fire,
spreading to the others. His was poured concrete, so Boss and his family
were living in the spaces which remained while he completed his work.

Our walk around town was the usual experience of meeting locals and learning
about their community. By the time we'd arrived at the Decision Tree, there
were several men sitting on the bench, talking. We spent probably an hour
there, and, having been encouraged by them to visit the local (right down
the hill from the tree) bar, Cooper's. Inexpensive beer and Coke, we
chatted up more locals, including one from a neighboring island, who ran
back to his room to get a book to share with us. We had him write his name
in it, so we could find him, should we ever get to Fox Town, his home.

While we were at the tree, we saw Boss head out with a bucket, fins, mask
and snorkel. Up the hill after our time in the bar, we found his family
outside talking. Apparently they'd been alerted for our arrival, because
shortly one of the men headed inside and came out with a plastic shopping
bag. We assumed that to be the lobster Boss promised us and we thanked him
profusely, asking to be remembered to Boss. When we got back to the boat, we
discovered that there were SEVEN tails - enough for two dinners. The
generosity of the Bahamians is legendary, but we were stunned. Our next
time here, we'll be sure to stop and visit Boss and thank him personally.

The next day, following beach and coral areas explorations, we came back in
for eggs and gasoline. Oops. No gas, they were cleaned out, again, by the
fisherfolk. We also cleaned out the local store's stock of eggs, that
working out perfectly for the number we eat each day as part of our diet,
however, so all wasn't lost for having made the trip.

Thus fortified, we headed off to explore Double Breasted, which had been
represented to us as having a perfect hurricane hole for us, even with our
7' draft.

So, we'll leave you here, hanging, again, to see if we succeed in threading
the needle into the hurricane hole, find fuel for our generator, and
otherwise continue in our quest for a breakdown-free experience here in the
Bahamas.

Until next time, Stay Tuned!

L8R

Skip


Morgan 461 #2
SV Flying Pig KI4MPC
See our galleries at www.justpickone.org/skip/gallery !
Follow us at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheFlyingPigLog
and/or http://groups.google.com/group/flyingpiglog

When a man comes to like a sea life, he is not
fit to live on land.
- Dr. Samuel Johnson

On Sat, 12 Sep 2015 11:20:46 -0400, "Flying Pig"
wrote:

Shake and Break Part 13 - August 6 2015

We left you as we reconnected to the same mooring we'd left only 6 weeks
earlier, in Vero Beach. If you've been with us recently, you know that our
return was to tend to Lydia's mother (Louise) following her discharge from
both the hospital and the skilled nursing portion of the senior citizen
center where she lives independently in a cottage.

That was following a Gulf Stream crossing made tense only because our
chartplotter - sort of like what folks call a GPS in a car - refused to let
us look ahead to the West - which, of course, was the direction we were
heading - without doing a Columbus and moving our cursor east until we got
to where we wanted to look at. The crossing itself was nearly ideal. The
wind remained in such a position as to keep us pointed in the best direction
for our travel, and because it was relatively light, conditions were benign.

And, of course, a few other broken things we mentioned along the way, which
has turned into the norm these last couple of years.

No sooner had we landed than we headed out to Target to get a fancy blow-up
bed for the cottage's office; the rehab team didn't want us to not be
resident during the outpatient portion of Louise' therapy. Aside from the
first bed losing air, and putting us on the ground (Target refunded; we
chose another model), all went well there.

However, there were a few other items to address in that time, before we
could leave again. As it's nearly all just working on parts, I'll save you
the gory details other than to say:

The chartplotter went back to the manufacturer; a faulty ribbon cable was
replaced, and on reinstallation, all was well. We have several other means
of navigation, but none which is as helpful as this, so we breathed a huge
sigh of relief; this unit is long out of production, and at some point, if
it needs repair, we'll have to replace it with some other used unit of
unknown longevity. But for now, all was well.

We wound up getting a new muffler; the old one was too far gone. Because the
outlet was a different size than what we had, a trea$ure hunt en$ued, ending
with our finding the correct adapter$ at a local surplus shop.

The cooling water pump for the refrigeration was also dead, and replaced;
the old one is off for post-mortem diagnosis with the manufacturer. The
refrigerator/freezer continues to gobble electrons, but works well
otherwise.

Our KISS wind generator got new thermostatic interrupts (it shuts down the
power if the unit overheats) courtesy of its easy-to-rebuild character, and
we were once again enjoying free wind power.

Our special modem which we use with our high-frequency radio proved to be
inoperative; it's what allows us to do email when we are far at sea. It
went back to the manufacturer for a software update, and awaits our return
for reinstallation and testing.

We wanted to do some improvements to our Shade Tree awnings; they look a bit
like a Conestoga wagon when they're installed. Attempting to sew those
straps which would make our three sections behave more like a single unit
revealed that there were problems with our Sail-Rite industrial-grade sewing
machine. They got worse the further we went, until, on the LAST strap, it
finally gave up. Much gnashing of teeth ensued as we did everything the
manual and in-house videos suggested, to no avail. A local canvas guy
(HIGHLY recommended if you're in Vero Beach: Tony at Latitude 27)
volunteered to have a look when we brought that last item, along with a wind
scoop which was next on our repair list. In the course of our time there,
we got it working, and later, also tweaked it to perfection. Whew!

In the meantime, Lydia was becoming a master gardener while Louise, a
lifelong unbelievably fast healer, did just that, even after her double
surgery. So, finally cleared to leave by the medical folk, we again engaged
our local diver to clean off the horrible growth which had accumulated in
the 6 weeks we had been there, and we wanted to remove, clean, and reinstall
our presumed-fouled speed impellers just before we left.

Our impellers (water runs by paddlewheels, which tells the instrument how
fast we're moving through the water) were indeed badly fouled, just like our
hull under water. They were pulled out, cleaned, and awaited restoration
just before we left.

Oops. The forward one had some form of hangup, requiring a great deal of
effort to remove. Worse, once out, the plug wouldn't go back in. The flap
which is integral to the tube into which we stick our impeller prevents more
than just a trickle of water to enter when it's out (we use a blank to plug
it when we remove an impeller) apparently was fouled in the tube. You
wouldn't believe how much water can come into a boat when there's a 1" hole
3 feet under water! We thought we might have to call our local diver for an
emergency plug. Otherwise, I was going to have to remain there, holding the
blank in place, partly down, to minimize the incoming water. He, however,
was unavailable, leading us to our own devices.

Eventually, I rooted around in there with a very long screwdriver, ignoring
the fountain which arose, and managed to dislodge it, allowing our blank to
fully insert, plugging it up. The next time we're on the ground (hauled out
for whatever reason) I'll see if that flap can be replaced. In the
meantime, replacing the impeller every time we remove it to prevent growth
will involve a gusher between it and the blank. However, our bilge pumps
easily cope with that amount of water, and the bilge, normally dry, gets a
nice rinse.

So, our diver cleans the bottom, we clean and reinstall our impellers, and
we're off to the races again on July 27th, to our staging spot in Fort
Pierce, and departure on the 28th. We take the outgoing tide at 11AM. With
main and staysail up, we sail off our anchor and are outside by 11:15,
helped by our clean-bottom STW of 8 knots, enhanced by the current to 11+
knots SOG. Once out, we put up the genoa, trimmed our running backstay (for
keeping the mast straight under the pressure of the staysail) and headed as
far south as we could get, and the best speed, before encountering the Gulf
Stream. Making as much of our southing as possible early on would mean that
we might not have to go south to get onto the Little Bahamas Banks, our
target for entry into Bahamian waters, once we were out of the Gulf Stream.

Heading 150°T, with a resulting COG of 140°T, we were on a beam reach - the
fastest point of sail - and thrilled with our progress. Depending on which
of our speed indicators you believe, we were making 9.8-12.0 knots STW.
Approaching the edge of the Gulf stream meant we had a slight current
against us, but we still averaged more than 7 knots SOG, despite an apparent
wind of under 10 knots.

Of course, everything is subject to change, and by 2PM, we were in the Gulf
Stream after gaining about 18 miles of southing as we moved southeast. The
wind picked up, and we saw a squall line in the distance. We rolled in the
Genoa, and let out both the main and staysail while we ran before the
40-knot squall. Another Shake and Break, the wind indicator suddenly goes
100° off true. That's a problem, as we want to keep the wind about 120-150°,
at our stern, and there's no frame of reference other than to keep looking
up at the indicator atop the mast. One (relatively gentle) crash jibe and a
very strong push-over (not a knockdown by any stretch) during our tack to
regain our heading aside, we managed just fine, and flew along before the
storm. It blew itself out shortly, and we resumed our plan.

That was to take the best point of sail which would allow anything east or
southeast; as we weren't in any hurry, and our southing should allow us to
meet an ideal entry point, we head 119°T, yielding a north-flowing Gulf
Stream's 070°T COG at between 7-8 knots SOG on our beam reach. At this rate,
we'll gain our entry onto the banks shortly before dark. Indeed, we anchor
on the Mantanilla banks at 10PM, in 20' of water.

With 16 knots of wind, there is a HORRIBLE rock 'n' roll, making Lydia sick
for the first time since we left. Enough of this, we pull the anchor and
head out again at 11PM. As we're trimming the sails under our deck lights,
dolphins play alongside, perhaps attracted by the light. A very nice sendoff
from a very uncomfortable anchorage!

We ghosted along with 9 knots of wind at an apparent 120° on our starboard
stern. Headed at 120T°, we made 105T°. Fighting the outgoing tide, we were
making only 5.5 knots SOG against our STW of 6.5. The current held us
beam-to on the waves, which made for an uncomfortable roll, but it was a
very gentle ride. Around 12:20AM we saw LOTS of heat lightning in the
clouds all around us. We never heard any thunder, but we turned on the
radar, anyway. NO activity within 24 miles, so we relaxed a bit. Later,
we'd watch several squalls trying to approach, but none got within 6 miles
of us, despite the entertaining light show in excellent visibility.

Those, however, caused the wind to back, and suddenly we were having to
reach as much as we'd been running, because it was now at 60° apparent wind.
We continued our heading of 124°T, but slid to 98°T COG as we made our
comfortable 5.6 knots SOG. Of course, a squall-line induced wind shift will
go away with the squall, so we were soon back at 120° apparent wind, which
wandered around constantly, requiring diligent attention in order to keep
the wind behind only ONE side of the boat. Otherwise, a crash jibe (a
sudden unintended shift of the mainsail from one side to the other, caused
by having the trailing edge at the wrong angle to the wind catching it and
slamming it over) was in the cards. An otherwise easy sail concluded with
our dropping our anchor at Little Sale Cay at 9AM.

I'd spoken with Chris Parker, our weather guru, on his morning forecast over
the SSB radio, and heard a friend hail him also. Calling him after the
forecast, on the same frequency, revealed that he wasn't very far north of
us, and had a perfect anchorage, and great spearfishing to show us. So, by
noon, we were under way to Grand Cay, a short 13 miles away.

Our friend guided us to where we could anchor in order to check in.
Normally, in this area, Customs and Immigration have been on Walker Cay, the
last major island in the chain going northwest, but having suffered major
damage during a recent hurricane, unless there's an airplane arriving there,
all C&I business is being done in a temporary location in Grand Cay. They're
hopeful that they will be able to make it a permanent fixture, both because
the Walker Cay situation, should someone buy it, is relatively dire, with
many sunken boats and the total destruction of the marina requiring
resolution before rebuilding can start, which will mean a long time before
normal business can resume on Walker Cay, and because it would drive
additional business to Grand Cay.

Following our guide's instructions, after we'd lowered our dinghy and
installed the fuel and engine, we quickly went on the winding path into the
harbor. There was no obvious place for us to go with our dinghy, but we
asked the folks at the first dock where to go. They told us, but invited us
to tie up to their dock and walk up the hill, which would lead us directly
to the Post Office, in which a spare room was allocated to Customs and
Immigration. So, we did just that.

Bahamas immigration has a 90-day window in which your boat can leave the
Bahamas and return, once, without incurring a new entry charge for the
cruising permit. Unfortunately for us, that was 12 days ago, and we
reluctantly paid another $300 for another 1-year cruising permit. We were
given only a 60 day visa, too, as we expected to be back in the US before
the end of September. But we were again legally able to set foot ashore, and
we took down our yellow "Q" (signal flag of the letter Q, but also a
quarantine notice for boats which had not checked in) and hoisted our
Bahamian courtesy flag. That lets others know that we (say, at least, that
we) have checked in and are under a valid cruising permit.

By 4:30, we were back aboard Flying Pig, and got under way for the narrow
channel leading up to the entrance to Wells Bay. Our friends had been there
for nearly a month; they tell us that this is their very favorite place in
the Bahamas. And, in fact, they'd just returned from hunting, despite a
renegade charter having vacuumed up most of the lobster hideouts they'd been
tracking all month, illegally, on the day before Opening Day of August 1st,
where they (even so) got so much lobster that they gave us 5 tails for our
dinner.

After exploring the beach for a day, we took our dinghy on the mile-or-so
trip to town, to get acquainted with the local folk. We went to Rosie's
Place - a marina and restaurant - and tied up at a dinghy dock. No sooner
do we start to walk toward the town's street do we encounter Rosie himself.
He immediately, of course, recognizes us for cruisers, so when we ask him
what we should look for as we walk around town, he asks where we're parked.
We show him, and one of his employees had already moved us to a marina slot
as he told us to take any spot we wanted.

We also asked where to get gasoline, as he was the vendor of that, too.
"None until tomorrow - tanks are empty." Hm. Well, we'll have to come back.
The season for sportfisher boats and fishermen is in full swing, and they'd
cleaned him out the previous day. I have no idea how he gets restocked, but
that wouldn't happen until early the next day. So, we'd have to come
back...

Thanking him after an exchange of cards (cruisers usually carry 'boat
cards' - the cruisers' equivalent of a business card), we headed up the
ramp. As we look both ways on the street, we hear hammering, and see a guy
just finishing up and stowing his hammer and tools. We asked him, too, what
to see.

He suggested we go to a gazebo, and talk. "Boss" regaled us with his story
and the local things we should look for. He also stopped and said, "Have
you had lunch? (It wasn't even noon yet.) (No) "What are you going to do
for lunch?" (Probably go back to the boat and have a Zone Bar.) "No, you're
not. You're having lobster!" (How much will that cost us?) "Nothing. I'll
give it to you. I'm a fisherman; I have plenty to spare."

He went on to describe where to find his house, immediately opposite "The
Decision Tree" - a large tree surrounded by a bench, around which locals
would gather for discussion and the occasional town meeting - which he was
rebuilding, it having burned along with 15 others when a house caught fire,
spreading to the others. His was poured concrete, so Boss and his family
were living in the spaces which remained while he completed his work.

Our walk around town was the usual experience of meeting locals and learning
about their community. By the time we'd arrived at the Decision Tree, there
were several men sitting on the bench, talking. We spent probably an hour
there, and, having been encouraged by them to visit the local (right down
the hill from the tree) bar, Cooper's. Inexpensive beer and Coke, we
chatted up more locals, including one from a neighboring island, who ran
back to his room to get a book to share with us. We had him write his name
in it, so we could find him, should we ever get to Fox Town, his home.

While we were at the tree, we saw Boss head out with a bucket, fins, mask
and snorkel. Up the hill after our time in the bar, we found his family
outside talking. Apparently they'd been alerted for our arrival, because
shortly one of the men headed inside and came out with a plastic shopping
bag. We assumed that to be the lobster Boss promised us and we thanked him
profusely, asking to be remembered to Boss. When we got back to the boat, we
discovered that there were SEVEN tails - enough for two dinners. The
generosity of the Bahamians is legendary, but we were stunned. Our next
time here, we'll be sure to stop and visit Boss and thank him personally.

The next day, following beach and coral areas explorations, we came back in
for eggs and gasoline. Oops. No gas, they were cleaned out, again, by the
fisherfolk. We also cleaned out the local store's stock of eggs, that
working out perfectly for the number we eat each day as part of our diet,
however, so all wasn't lost for having made the trip.

Thus fortified, we headed off to explore Double Breasted, which had been
represented to us as having a perfect hurricane hole for us, even with our
7' draft.

So, we'll leave you here, hanging, again, to see if we succeed in threading
the needle into the hurricane hole, find fuel for our generator, and
otherwise continue in our quest for a breakdown-free experience here in the
Bahamas.


===

Too bad about Walker's Cay. We checked in there on our first Bahamas
trip back in 2006. We also stoppped at Grand Cay and Double Breasted.
Grand Cay at that time was totally littered with trash and debris from
a massive hurricane strike sometime previously. The upper floor of
Rosie's had been blown off and had curious objects like a toilet bowl
and shower stall still standing on what was now the roof.

Several years later we met a professional yacht captain at Spanish
Wells who had been boating the Bahamas for years. He said that prior
to the hurricane at Grand Cay, the second floor of Rosie's was a well
known bordello that was popular with the Florida sport fishing crowd.

On 9/12/2015 9:20 AM, Flying Pig wrote:

Heading 150°T, with a resulting COG of 140°T, we were on a beam reach - the
fastest point of sail - and thrilled with our progress. Depending on which
of our speed indicators you believe, we were making 9.8-12.0 knots STW.
Approaching the edge of the Gulf stream meant we had a slight current
against us, but we still averaged more than 7 knots SOG, despite an
apparent
wind of under 10 knots.


Good to hear your MIL is recovered.

That's darned good COG heading while in the Stream. I've never come
close to only a 10 degree deviation.

I doubt you were going either 9.8 or 12 kts. Your hull speed is sqrt
(1.34 *Lwl). Best notation I can figure out to use.

If you have a 40 foot waterline, figure a hull speed of maybe 7.5 kts. I
suppose you can drive a bit faster, but not 2 kts faster much less 4.5
kts faster unless your Morgie has the very rare planing hull.

I don't say this to embarrass you but rather in case you need to
navigate not using that chartplotter and instead rely on dead reckoning.
A rate is part of that calculation and a vital one too.

I suggest you calibrate your knotmeter(s).

Otherwise, nice narrative as usual and good sailing.

-paul


---
This email has been checked for viruses by Avast antivirus software.
https://www.avast.com/antivirus

On 9/12/2015 1:04 PM, Wayne.B wrote:


Heading 150°T, with a resulting COG of 140°T, we were on a beam reach - the
fastest point of sail - and thrilled with our progress. Depending on which
of our speed indicators you believe, we were making 9.8-12.0 knots STW.
Approaching the edge of the Gulf stream meant we had a slight current
against us, but we still averaged more than 7 knots SOG, despite an apparent
wind of under 10 knots.


oops. My previous message which I tried to recall was wrong. The formula
for hull speed is (sqrt Lwl)*1.34 yielding a hull speed for you of about
8.5 kts. I still think either 9.8 kts much less 12 kts unrealistic and
both demand a calibration, but the embarrassment is mine.

-paul


---
This email has been checked for viruses by Avast antivirus software.
https://www.avast.com/antivirus

On Sat, 12 Sep 2015 14:24:12 -0600, Paul Cassel
wrote:

On 9/12/2015 1:04 PM, Wayne.B wrote:


Heading 150°T, with a resulting COG of 140°T, we were on a beam reach - the
fastest point of sail - and thrilled with our progress. Depending on which
of our speed indicators you believe, we were making 9.8-12.0 knots STW.
Approaching the edge of the Gulf stream meant we had a slight current
against us, but we still averaged more than 7 knots SOG, despite an apparent
wind of under 10 knots.


oops. My previous message which I tried to recall was wrong. The formula
for hull speed is (sqrt Lwl)*1.34 yielding a hull speed for you of about
8.5 kts. I still think either 9.8 kts much less 12 kts unrealistic and
both demand a calibration, but the embarrassment is mine.


===

I'm guessing that he might have been quoting SOG from a GPS and
getting some boost from the Gulf Stream. My old Cal-34 used to exceed
hull speed under sail fairly frequently however. It's not an absolute
limit, just a point where you need a lot more power to start climbing
the bow wave.

On Sun, 13 Sep 2015 11:47:17 -0400, Wayne.B
wrote:

On Sat, 12 Sep 2015 14:24:12 -0600, Paul Cassel
wrote:

On 9/12/2015 1:04 PM, Wayne.B wrote:


Heading 150°T, with a resulting COG of 140°T, we were on a beam reach - the
fastest point of sail - and thrilled with our progress. Depending on which
of our speed indicators you believe, we were making 9.8-12.0 knots STW.
Approaching the edge of the Gulf stream meant we had a slight current
against us, but we still averaged more than 7 knots SOG, despite an apparent
wind of under 10 knots.


oops. My previous message which I tried to recall was wrong. The formula
for hull speed is (sqrt Lwl)*1.34 yielding a hull speed for you of about
8.5 kts. I still think either 9.8 kts much less 12 kts unrealistic and
both demand a calibration, but the embarrassment is mine.


===

I'm guessing that he might have been quoting SOG from a GPS and
getting some boost from the Gulf Stream. My old Cal-34 used to exceed
hull speed under sail fairly frequently however. It's not an absolute
limit, just a point where you need a lot more power to start climbing
the bow wave.

Going up and down the Malacca Straits there can be a pretty strong
tidal current and it isn't unusual to read a speed of, maybe 4 K
through the water on the log and a SOG of 1 K on the GPS. Or zero
through the water and 3 or 4 K SOG, for that matter :-)
--
Cheers,

Bruce

On 9/13/2015 9:47 AM, Wayne.B wrote:
On Sat, 12 Sep 2015 14:24:12 -0600, Paul Cassel

===

I'm guessing that he might have been quoting SOG from a GPS and
getting some boost from the Gulf Stream. My old Cal-34 used to exceed
hull speed under sail fairly frequently however. It's not an absolute
limit, just a point where you need a lot more power to start climbing
the bow wave.


I doubt it. If he were headed north, then yes, but the Stream runs
roughly 90 degrees to the intended course here. I can't see how that can
add to speed made good. Maybe Skip will drop in and clarify.

-paul

---
This email has been checked for viruses by Avast antivirus software.
https://www.avast.com/antivirus

On Mon, 14 Sep 2015 05:37:09 -0600, Paul Cassel wrote:

On 9/13/2015 9:47 AM, Wayne.B wrote:
On Sat, 12 Sep 2015 14:24:12 -0600, Paul Cassel

===

I'm guessing that he might have been quoting SOG from a GPS and
getting some boost from the Gulf Stream. My old Cal-34 used to exceed
hull speed under sail fairly frequently however. It's not an absolute
limit, just a point where you need a lot more power to start climbing
the bow wave.


I doubt it. If he were headed north, then yes, but the Stream runs
roughly 90 degrees to the intended course here. I can't see how that can
add to speed made good. Maybe Skip will drop in and clarify.

Skippy is confused. Always was; always will be.

He apparently has no concept of vector diagrams which,
if drawn for a 150 degree COG and a current setting to
the north of about three to five knots, actually
SUBTRACTS from his speed over the ground though it
will ADD to his speed through the water when
referenced by the old fashioned spinning log in his
hull.

Some folks seem unable to break free of the ground
reference frame and actually exist totally in the water.
This is because they have hearts of lubbers and not of
seamen.

--
Sir Gregory

On Mon, 14 Sep 2015 05:37:09 -0600, Paul Cassel
wrote:

On 9/13/2015 9:47 AM, Wayne.B wrote:
On Sat, 12 Sep 2015 14:24:12 -0600, Paul Cassel

===

I'm guessing that he might have been quoting SOG from a GPS and
getting some boost from the Gulf Stream. My old Cal-34 used to exceed
hull speed under sail fairly frequently however. It's not an absolute
limit, just a point where you need a lot more power to start climbing
the bow wave.


I doubt it. If he were headed north, then yes, but the Stream runs
roughly 90 degrees to the intended course here. I can't see how that can
add to speed made good. Maybe Skip will drop in and clarify.


===

It's basically simple vector algebra. Assume a speed through the
water of 5 kts on a course of due east. Also assume a north flowing
current of 5 kts. The resultant course made good would be north east
at 7 kts.

On Mon, 14 Sep 2015 10:38:30 -0400, "Sir Gregory Hall, Esq."
wrote:

On Mon, 14 Sep 2015 05:37:09 -0600, Paul Cassel wrote:

On 9/13/2015 9:47 AM, Wayne.B wrote:
On Sat, 12 Sep 2015 14:24:12 -0600, Paul Cassel

===

I'm guessing that he might have been quoting SOG from a GPS and
getting some boost from the Gulf Stream. My old Cal-34 used to exceed
hull speed under sail fairly frequently however. It's not an absolute
limit, just a point where you need a lot more power to start climbing
the bow wave.


I doubt it. If he were headed north, then yes, but the Stream runs
roughly 90 degrees to the intended course here. I can't see how that can
add to speed made good. Maybe Skip will drop in and clarify.

Skippy is confused. Always was; always will be.

He apparently has no concept of vector diagrams which,
if drawn for a 150 degree COG and a current setting to
the north of about three to five knots, actually
SUBTRACTS from his speed over the ground though it
will ADD to his speed through the water when
referenced by the old fashioned spinning log in his
hull.

Some folks seem unable to break free of the ground
reference frame and actually exist totally in the water.
This is because they have hearts of lubbers and not of
seamen.

I see. Skipper, who goes sailing, is divorced from the reality of
cruising, while a bloke who is permanently moored (with stainless
steel chains) is the realist.

A rather perverse logic, to say the least.
--
Cheers,

Bruce