We have always relied on the engine for maneuvering in close quarters and as a convenience when the wind died. We also needed to keep the batteries charged for navigation lights, auto-helm, marine radio, etc. I searched the boat unsuccessfully for a spare water pump. Even if I found it, I questioned whether it would be prudent to try to install it here away from any support. I could run the engine briefly with the leaking pump, but if I attempted to remove the old one and stripped the threads, lost a bolt...I may not be able to use the engine at all.
Uninhabited Plana Cay, while beautiful, offered no help. The nearest possible source for a replacement pump was Georgetown, probably two days sail. Getting there by sail alone wouldn't be a big problem, but navigating the cut and avoiding coral heads under sail might be. There are two inlets into Georgetown, neither particularly easy to negotiate. Looking to the north, Cat Island, again about two days sail, offered a more accessible anchorage. While finding parts there was unlikely, they did have air service to Georgetown and the US. A part could be flown in. We could also sail nonstop to the States, then either sail into a safe harbor (Lake Worth being the most suitable) or call BoatUS for a tow (we have an unlimited towing service agreement with BoatUS). With that, we decided to head north and decide the best course of action as we went.
Weighing anchor under sail in light SE winds proved easy enough and we were soon on our way. With only a 5 knot wind, we stayed within sight of our anchorage for a depressingly long time, but the weather was fine and we soon adjusted to the blistering 2 knots of speed. About mid-morning, I hoisted the spinnaker and we moved along steadily (maybe 3 knots) through the day, keeping a constant eye out for potential squalls. Squalls can generate 60+ knot winds for short periods of time. If hit by anything close to that with the spinnaker up ...well...we wouldn't have to worry about taking the spinnaker down. It would shred into pieces suitable for Tibetan prayer flags (something we could probably use to good effect in any case). I took the spinnaker down late in the afternoon and put up all other sail. The wind picked up a little and we continued to make reasonable progress through the night.
Spinnaker
With daylight, we once again opted for the spinnaker and ghosted along in a barely perceptible wind for most of the next day, passing Rum Cay and Conception to starboard. We followed the same routine into the next day, lowering the spinnaker before dusk and raising the mizzen, main, stay and yankee with the morning light. With Cat Island to the northwest, we decided to make for the anchorage at New Bight. In addition to offering the chance of finding repair parts, Cat Island (named after the pirate, Arthur Catt), looked like an interesting place. It claims the highest point in the Bahamas (206 feet!) upon which stands the Hermitage, a reproduction 12th century stone monastery, built by Monsignor Jerome Hawkes in 1939. In addition, the actor, Sidney Poitier, grew up there and still lives on the island.
To reach the anchorage we had to round the 'boot' on the south end of the island. We turned west and with a 10 knot wind on the beam, our speed rose to 4-5 knots. The anchorage looked promising. With the wind continuing from the SE, we would be on the leeward side of the island. No troublesome cuts or coral reefs need be threaded to reach safety. As the island came into view, we reviewed our plan to anchor without an engine (something we hadn't actually ever done before). With light winds, we may not have a great deal of maneuverability. We needed to get it right the first time.
Our preparations were for naught, however. Five miles off shore, the hazy silhouette of Cat Island that had been growing larger with our approach gradually seemed to freeze in place as our boat speed slowed on a dying wind. The wind gauge began to turn lazily, boxing the compass. The sense that we had stopped dead in the water belied the fact that a northwest current pushed us inexorably toward the rocky shoreline. Our barely perceptible forward progress made tacking away from this hazard impossible. To turn the boat through the wind, we needed to be moving fast enough to overcome the force of the wind and water against the hull. Unless the wind picked up, we would eventually be pushed onto the reef.
Fortunately, nothing was going to happen very quickly. We played with the sails and rudder to generate enough speed to change direction to no avail. Finally, we jibbed successfully, heading south. With the afternoon waning, we realized that even with a favorable wind, we couldn't reach the anchorage before dark. So, with a slightly increasing wind, we turned northeast. Checking the charts, several options seemed feasible and once again, we agreed to consider each one as they presented themselves. One of the advantages of moving along at 3 or 4 knots, we had plenty of time to decide.
As night fell, we continued northeast, then, rounding Columbus Point, turned to the northwest. Our route would leave Cat Island and Eleuthera to the west. Once around Eleuthera, we would follow the Northwest Providence Channel leaving the Abacos & the Grand Bahamas to the north and the Berry Islands to the south. Despite our concern about the engine, we had a wonderful night sail, making excellent progress aided by the same NW current that had been troublesome earlier.
As a gray morning dawned, the "chance of squalls" became a certainty as dark storm clouds straddled the horizon directly in our path.
With limited maneuverability, I tried to raise a nearby cargo ship on the radio to make sure she knew our situation. There was no imminent danger, but with the storm approaching, visibility would soon become limited. Despite repeated calls, we received no response. The squall descended on us quickly. However, Live Now, under shortened sail, handled the 25 to 30 knot winds with aplomb. The storm passed. We sailed on. An hour or so later, another hit but again we fared well. Passing through this storm, a moderate wind and an innocent looking overcast sky encouraged us to raise mizzen and yankee headsail. The general overcast sky, however, masked the fact that we were in for another squall and without warning the boat began to heel radically as the wind gauge suddenly jumped to over 30 knots. In trying to reduce the headsail, the jib sheet slipped from my hand. The wind whipped the ¾” line back and forth, snapping like gunshots, snagging on the roller furling cleat, ripping it from the deck. Before I could tame the errant line, repeated shots to the bimini cracked the windscreen. With the sail finally reduced to a handkerchief and the line secured, we weathered the brief storm without further damage. Unlike the earlier squalls, this one found us unprepared and we paid for it. Still, no serious damage was done and we learned a good lesson.
We had been out for 3 days and nights without stopping. With both of us healthy and able to stand a full watch, however, we got plenty of sleep. Also, Pat made sure we ate well and we felt good. Except for the brief squalls, the sailing was enjoyable, relaxing even. Still, we hoped to find a suitable anchorage to rest and replace the water pump. Fortunately, I was able to fix the solar panel that hadn't worked since we bought the boat. With it working, we had battery power to spare for all essential operations. As we inched our way up the coast of Eleuthera, we determined that Harbour Island offered an excellent stopping place and we altered course accordingly. So that we would arrive in daylight, we 'hove to' about 15 miles from the inlet. About 3:00 am we raised sail, now in a 5-7 knot SE wind, retraced our steps for an hour then turned back to Harbour Island.
Our timing couldn't have been better. As the sun rose on our back, we sailed serenely through the narrow inlet at slack water and into in Harbour Island's Bottom Harbour. We anchored in 15 feet of water, secured the sails, and just as I was turning to return from the bow to the cockpit, the skies opened up. A true deluge followed, filling a 5 gallon bucket I had placed at the base of the mizzen mast to the brim. Lightening filled the air with continuous strikes; one with literally simultaneous thunder and lightening. Visibility dropped to zero. Had we been ½ hour later, conditions would have prevented our entry or, worse, caught us in the narrow inlet! Perhaps the weather gods were trying to balance our account, giving us a break for a change.
Safely anchored in this protected harbor, we congratulated ourselves for a job well done. We'd worry about repairs in the morning.
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