March 2018

In which weather, in Scotland and the Bahamas, delays our progress but we make it as far South as Great Inagua before turning North.

Having been delayed by ‘The Beast from the East’ I finally returned to Elsie and Ruby at Emerald Bay Marina, Exuma, on Sunday 4^th March. A weather window for exiting and proceeding to Rum Cay had passed 2 days earlier and Northerly winds were forecast for the next 3 days. The swell was augmented by a very deep depression in mid Atlantic, which had surfers raving about the ‘best’ waves for a decade from the American seaboard through to the Virgin Islands. We wandered down to the harbour entrance a couple of times each day to watch the water and, occasionally, a boat entering or leaving. There seemed to be a pattern – 3 or 4 huge waves breaking right across the entrance, followed by several minutes of unbroken, but still huge, swell. With the northerly wind, an engine failure at the critical point would rapidly leave you beam on to this and swept onto the rocks within a couple of minutes.

Beacon

Church door

Elsie had hired a car to collect me from the airport. $60 for the day compared to taxis at $30 -40 each way. It wasn’t much of a car but it did the job and we took a trip down to the bottom of Little Exuma that afternoon. We found a pillar which had acted as a beacon to guide boats in to collect salt when it was being harvested from ponds a century earlier and a beautiful little church with modern stained glass windows. And door. We also used the car for a fairly major provisioning trip on Monday, before fitting the new wind generator with help from a neighbour (and his tools). Tuesday and Wednesday were just spent weather watching with daily walks, either through the adjacent Sandals resort or a stalled private development.

Finally, on Thursday 8^th, the wind shifted to the southwest. The swell was still larger than we would have liked but I figured that, if the worst happened with an engine failure, we would at least be able to sail clear. One false start, with a train of breaking waves coming sooner than expected, then a dash for freedom and 5 minutes later we were outside in fine sailing conditions, broad reaching the 47 miles back to Thomson bay on Long Island. Here we stayed for a further 5 days, moving twice to shelter from shifting winds and having the occasional trip ashore for a walk when they were not too strong.

At last, on the 13^th, we saw a window to make progress to the East and Aklins Island. It was a round-about route to get shelter for overnight stops. First, we headed West, back through the Comer passage and down to Water Cay. The first bit was a fine beam reach and second leg was a slow run. The wind, which should have shifted to East of North, failed to do so but we were comfortable enough and, as it looked worse than it was, only one other yacht joined us so we had plenty of space. Our neighbour was a young American couple who were having a fairly torrid time beating to wind on a 40 year old, 30 ft yacht with no auto pilot or weather updates. They had been stuck in Florida, crossed to Cuba with only a 14 day permit and were looking forward to a bit of peace. We were able to give them the good news that, if they were prepared to motor into wind the next morning, they should then have a good sail into Thomson Bay. For ourselves, we decided that we would get better winds by waiting a day, so spent the 14^th at anchor with a nice walk along the beach. On the 15^th, we back-tracked a couple of miles North then broke free of the bank and into deep water for a 50 mile reach across to Gordons Bay at the south end of Long Island.  Most of the way, the wind was on the beam, so it was Elsie’s treat. She had to work a little harder for the final 10 miles but we found a comfortable spot and settled in for the night. The next leg, across to Aklins Bight, was 20 degrees further to starboard but unfortunately the wind veered 45 degrees so we had a 35 mile close reach the following morning. Once inside the bight, we had to motor for a while but got another nice close reach for the final 12 miles down to Camel point, which provided good shelter. Our days run of 62 miles being our furthest for a few months, we felt our sun-downer rum punches were especially deserved.

Having finally got to Aklins, we weren’t sure what to do next. Once again, using the available winds would take us to places with poor shelter or trick entrances so we decided to chill for a couple of days and just do a few little routine maintenance jobs. On the 19^th, the wind shifted to the south and we re-positioned round the corner to anchor as close as we could to Spring Point settlement, where there was reputed to be a store. The nearest we could get still left us with a ¾ mile dinghy ride but our first impressions were good when a car coming in the opposite direction stopped to ask if they could help us at all. The next vehicle was an out-of service school bus going the same way as us. He also stopped to chat, told us that the local store was poor and he could give us a ride to a better one a few miles away as he was going that way anyway. We accepted. This store was acceptable (though no chicken!) and also had a restaurant attached and, as we had failed to make provision for lunch, we ate (good local fish, chicken or pork, with beans and rice). Our driver also ate and gladly accepted our offer to pay for him. While eating a loud discussion broke out about local religious affairs, in which our man appeared to be chief stirrer and we discovered far more than we wished to know. Having eaten, as he was now returning south, we accepted a lift back. In the absence of service buses, hitching is an accepted means of travel here. We have enquired and been told that payment is not expected and an offer may even cause offence, so I was a little surprised at the driver angling for and accepting a tip in addition to his lunch. It’s not wrong but it seems out of place here. Coupled with the theocracy (apparently 19 churches of various denominations for a population of about 600) it left a slightly sour taste. Probably not our favourite destination.

Lunch stop

We had been humming and hawing about whether, given the poor aid from the weather this year, it was time to head north but, looking at the long range forecast, we reckoned we could make one further trip south. To position ourselves for this, we heaved up on the morning of the 21^st and sailed the 20 miles back across the Bight of Aklins to anchor near the entrance. Again, we ended up about ¾ mile from the shore and dinghied in to have a look at the small settlement of Albert Town on Fortune Island. There is a little pier, with a channel in marked by posts. Even following this, the water was very shallow and, on the return, we sat as far forward as possible to give a couple of inches extra clearance to the propeller, turning at minimum revs. To reach the settlement, we had to walk about a mile along a rough track to discover half a dozen houses, a telecoms office and a small beach. At least we got some exercise.

Returning from Albert Town

We wanted a daylight arrival at Great Inagua, a voyage of about 110 miles, so we elected for a late afternoon departure. A quartering wind of 15 knots was forecast and we should be able to average at least 6 knots. We could always slow down or heave-to if necessary. Accordingly, after a bit of routine maintenance of sewage piping (always a pleasure!), we heaved up at 15:00 on the 22^nd and headed out, only to discover that the wind, for once, was lighter than forecast and that we had a north-setting current of up to 2 knots. It looked like we had miscalculated badly and might not make our destination in daylight. Apart from that, it was a pleasant sail, our first over-nighter since arriving in the Bahamas 3 months ago. The wind picked up a little, giving us a voyage average of 6 knots through the water (so, at least, I got that bit right) and the current reduced to about a knot. We arrived off Mathews Town at 13:00. Now, we had a further dilemma. The pilot book states that the small harbour is subject to surge and that there are obstructions and a shallow entrance, dangerous in a swell. We understood that the entrance had been dredged (and it was near high water) but there was a significant northerly swell running. There was an anchorage 10 miles further on, on the south coast. Having got trapped at Emerald Bay, we were wary of this harbour entrance and elected to continue. The chart, and book, suggested a comfortable berth, with clear sand and protection from swell, a mile or so offshore, inside a reef. The chart also hinted at a closer in spot so we headed for that, hoping that we would be able, the following day, to dinghy ashore, hitch into town and check the harbour for ourselves. We dropped sails at 15:00 and tried, unsuccessfully at the closer in one, but found poor holding, so went to the recognised anchorage. Either coral grows very quickly here or other peoples’ idea of clear sand varies from mine. We did eventually find a clear area, dropped the hook, and settled for the night, though it was not as smooth as we would have wished. The following day, with the wind still in the same direction but stronger, the swell changed direction making it even more uncomfortable. As an experiment, I attached a second line from our anchor cable to a midships cleat. This veered our bow round, making us pitch rather than roll. We spent a second uncomfortable night. In the morning, the wind had veered and decreased so we decided to pick up and head into town. By now, we were pitching heavily and had extra cable out from the previous days manoeuvres. The chain caught a couple of times on a coral head resulting in distress to both. Elsie had had a bad night so we just motored back to Mathews Town. We gingerly approached the harbour, to find it clear, with brand new docks, no surge and 15 ft of depth. It being Sunday, there was no-one around. There was a concrete dock for the defence force; one being used by Haitian trading sloops, with the only space next to a RoRo ramp and a wooden dock which we suspected might be private. As is was fairly calm outside, we exited and anchored outside, returning by dinghy for a walk ashore. We then bumped into people who told us that we could have used the wooden dock.

Trading sloops

 On Monday, we came in again and tied up to this and met the dock master, who told us a bit about the re-development and charged us $10 per night- cheapest dock we have seen since the Canaries 2 years before.. Walks ashore took us to the supermarket, not as comprehensive stock as hoped and, later, to the lighthouse. This, remarkably, was unlocked with a visitors’ book so we gave ourselves a self guided tour. The harbour was calm and we would have had a wonderful night’s sleep had we realised in time that there were small biting insects which followed us into our cabin. On subsequent evenings, we saluted the setting of the sun and immediately retreated below.

Lighthouse

view from the top

On Tuesday we took a tour with a local, unofficial, taxi to see the salt ponds, new and old. Great Inagua is effectively a vast sea salt farm with pumps constantly pumping water into the huge lake in the interior where it becomes concentrated brine by evaporation. This is let into dozens of shallow ponds, each about 50 – 60 acres and allowed to dry out over a period of about 3 months. The resulting salt, 6 – 9 inches deep, is then scraped into ridges by a grader then lifted into trucks for a rinse and final dry before being exported. The whole island economy depends on Morton salt. If they misuse this dependence, no-one here is saying.

Salt mountains

Harvesting

The wind had built during the week but was due to decrease and veer on Thursday so, on Wednesday afternoon, having spent the morning lugging cans of water to top up out tanks, we went to the store, only to find that it was half day closing. As it looked like Friday would give us a more comfortable sail, we decided to delay a day, and concentrate on planning our summer journey back to the U.K., including booking non-refundable air tickets. Early communications on Thursday brought a response that our planned shipyard could not accommodate us! There were some choice words said and frantic appraisals of alternatives before it appeared that someone thought we were a new booking and that we were expected after all. The wind had veered and swell was now entering the harbour, causing us to surge along the slip, needing improvements to our moorings. A check on the weather revealed that there might now be less wind than ideal with a Friday departure but, with provisioning still to be done and distress still lurking from the mornings confusions, we decided to stay the extra day. There were alternative stopping places, at Rum Cay and Conception Island if it looked as though we would not make Cat Island in daylight.

Provisions were a little sparse as, instead of the usual practice of weekly mail boats, they appear at random here. There had been 3 at once 10 days before and a local sports event had brought visitors, emptying the shelves. Never mind, it was time to start emptying the larder of emergency rations and some adventures in cooking. Who knew that a few handfuls of macaroni, a jar of Alfredo sauce, half a tin of Spam and a sprinkling of indifferent cheese could make a tasty, nutritious supper? Elsie had a productive afternoon baking and the cookie jars were full for our onward voyage.

Up at first light on the 30th and let go at 0740.  The wind was a nice F4 easterly, veering during the afternoon to ESE.  This meant it was a little further behind the beam than ideal, but we still moved along nicely at 7 knots with one reef in the main.  We had a second reef in for a while during the afternoon watch and again at 2300, for Elsie's night watch.  This was as well because, unforecast, there were a succession of squalls with heavy rain and gusts to 30 knots. I got dug out of my bunk at 0300 to assist with the 3^rd reef. The voyage back to abeam Albert Town was made in 16 hours and, at this point, we decided to make for our favourite Conception Island. We made this by midday on the 31^st, dropping anchor in the north east of the bay. Unfortunately, we didn’t have it completely to ourselves but it was nice to be back.

Monthly distances:

Logged              615

Over ground      566

Children of the Magenta

I have been a navigator all my adult life. I was a deck officer in the Merchant Navy in the days when coastal navigation was done by taking bearings of lights, buildings and even trees; deep sea, we used sextants and wind-up chronometers. If it was cloudy, we were sometimes using ‘dead reckoning’ for days on end. There were some electronic Nav Aids, but they were inaccurate and unreliable. The first satellite system used single transits and you were lucky to get a fix every 20 minutes or so. I then became a commercial helicopter pilot. Officially, we navigated by ground radio beacons, NDBs and VORs. In fact, the aircraft were fitted with smart boxes which interpreted Decca signals to fly us from waypoint to waypoint, but signals were frequently lost and large jumps encountered switching from one chain to the next and we always monitored the fixed aids. The more experienced the pilot, the less inherent trust he had in the automatics. There is a, possibly apocryphal, story of a new airliner reaching a waypoint and, instead of turning left as expected, it turned right. Within two minutes, the tech savvy Co-Pilot had worked out why this had happened; within 2 seconds, the Captain had disconnected the auto-pilot and corrected the course.

With the introduction of GPS and ever more sophisticated navigational aids, an airliner can fly itself from take off until landing; even a helicopter can manage, while above about 80 knots, with just the occasional push of a button. The system is so accurate and reliable that there is a temptation to let the system do the work and relax the monitoring: as long as the aircraft is following the magenta line on the flight management system, all is right with the world. This works most of the time but just one little error in route entering can spell disaster. The older, more experienced, generation fight against this tendency and use the pejorative phrase ‘Children of the Magenta’ to describe pilots who blindly accept what the system is telling them without cross checking other sources.

My third age of navigation has been sailing. When I first re-started, in 2010, I used paper charts. Fixes, using a hand compass, were taken at appropriate intervals and plotted. Transits and clearing lines were employed. The log recorded waypoints passed. Our chartered yacht might have a chart plotter, but this was strictly back-up to ‘proper’ navigation. Even when we bought Ruby, we ensured that we had the best paper charts for the area and plotted our positions. As time passed, and we gained more confidence in our chart plotter, we progressed to just having sufficient paper to ensure that we could make a safe harbour if it failed. Then to having back-up electronic charts on the phone. Our positions are logged by lat / long, directly from the GPS.

The last few months have been spent in the Bahamas. While the water on the Atlantic side and between islands is many thousands of metres deep, the banks are very shallow with, in places, many coral heads. At first, we took them at low speed with a look-out on the bow but have now got used to sailing for miles with only a few feet below us. The only charts that our, 12 year old, chart plotter will load are supplied by Navionics. These have a reputation for poor coverage in this area so we have used them with caution. On passing through in the Spring, I purchased Wavey Line charts for my phone. These are good, but are not, unlike Navionics charts, stored on the phone, so require internet access, so may fail in inaccessible areas. Following our grounding in January, I also purchased Explorer charts for the phone. These are regarded as ‘Gold Standard’ but this ap has also let me down by freezing at times. What these charts do have is a plethora of waypoints linked by known tracks. I have no reason to believe that these tracks, apart from where they weave between specific charted dangers, are any deeper than anywhere within a few hundred metres. What they do bring is the knowledge that dozens, or hundreds, of other yachtsmen have followed them and, if there any rocks to be found on them, someone will have done so.  While paper charts are available, for vast areas there is nothing to take bearings from so one could only take satellite positions and plot them, something tha a chart plotter does automatically.

Accordingly, we now transfer the waypoints to our main plotter (treble checking each one) and sail or motor along the lines. It works, but I am not proud of this lowering of navigational practice. I have become a Child of the Magenta.