Dolphin Love

Bottlenose Dolphin swiming in anchorage

It was a dolphin love kind of a morning. It was the calm before the storm. Who would of guessed that within 24 hours a friend's boat would be in danger of floundering on a rocky reef?

Bright sunlight and light winds greeted the morning.  Boat dusting, deck and dinghy cleaning were the chores for the day.  Sipping hot green tea, we tuned on the regional weather on the Single Sideband Radio (SSB).  

According to the weather forecast the winds would begin to clock after lunch.  By late evening the front will arrive brining squalls with 45 knot winds from the north and west.

Without a cloud in the sky, it was hard to believe.  Experience has taught us that when the wind dies and the boat slowly begins to clock it is time to batten down the hatches.  In the interval we get to work.

Ed sits in the dinghy behind the boat adding water and removing  dirt and sand that always seems to multiply no matter how often it is cleaned.  As he rinses a chamois in the water, comapany appears in the crystal blue waters.

The pfft of a dolphin sounds as a mother and calf swim near the boat.  The youngster decides to check out the splashing Ed makes as he rinses the cloth. I grab the camera and press the record button as the young dolphin swims up to Ed's hand.  It does barrel rolls, swiming around and under the dinghy fot about three minutes.

I'm  excited that I captured it on video, until I play it back and realize I never turned it on. I have one still image of the young dolphin's flipper.  Oh poo!  Those moments are special. At least it is a memory to share with Ed.

Anchored in a cove, surrounded by land on three sides, we watch as boats stream in looking for a place to ride out ths particularly vicious predicted front.  We know our anchor is buried after siting in place for two weeks.  We hope the boats moving in hold fast during the bulk of  the storm. It is now predicted to arrive in the wee hours of the morning.

Final Lee arrives mid afternoon and anchors 200 feet off our port side.  The boat settles in. Ed dinghies over to say hello to the first time cruising couple that hail from Gregg Neck Boatyard. Imagne stays there when we are not cruising.

By now ominous dark clouds build in the northwestern sky.  Angry and dark, the clouds continue to expand and stack.  By nightfall, the front is still six hours away. We go bed early knowing that we will be awake and on watch when the raging winds begin to blow through the previous tranquil cove.

It's 2:00 a.m. when the first gusts smack the boat.  We sit in the darkened cockpit watching anchor lights of nearby boats rock back and forth.  Everyone sees to be holdng.  In a matter of minutes the gusts have clocked 90 degrees.  This is the time that the danger of draggig often occurs.

A strong front clocks a boat fast. The quick change in direction and high gusts of winds can pull an anchor in seconds.

Our neighboring boat,  Final Lee held during the initial gusts.  Then thinking the worst was over, the captain turned off the VHF radio and went to bed.  Shortly after the squalls came through.

Still in the cockpit Ed frantically hails Final Lee.  "Final Lee, Final Lee, you are dragging,"  Ed calls.  Other boats blow horns.  The noise is lost in the howling wind.  We watch helplessly as the wind driven boat moves closer to the rocky shoreline. As it passes by, the dragging boat narrowly misses taking out another boat's dinghy.

Suddenly the wayward boat stops less than fifty feet from shore.  It's shortly after low tide. A shallow sandbar stops the boat.  The thumping of Final Lee's keel bouncing of yet bottom brings the owners from below.

Tom, from a large power boat, Cocoon II,  hears Ed on the radio and swings by Imagine in his larger dinghy and 40 horsepower engine..  After several passess by the boat, Ed boards the14-foot dinghy admidst three foot wind driven swells.

For the next two hours,  the storm and wave drenched men use lines and auxillary anchors to attempt to pull Final Lee off  the bar and keep the stranded boat from getting blown onto te nearby rocks.

At one point, with water up to their calves and the center console dinghy in danger of floundering, the men had to leave tending Final Lee to find a place to turn on the manual bilge pump.

The gusts pounded Final Lee from the side until just before daylight.  By then the tide had risen enough to pull the stranded boat free of the bar and away from the jagged iron rock.

With Final Lee reanchored, Ed and Tom were ready for a well deserved nap.

Every year boats run up on reefs, become grounded, or sink in storms.  One can never be too careful.  Final Lee was lucky.  There was a sandbar before the rocks.  There was a rising tide. Finally, Tom owned a dinghy large enough, deep enough and with enough horsepower to assist in rescuing the runaway boat.

Our little 10.5 foot dinghy with its 9.9 horsepower

outboard would have sunk in the dangerous wind and waves.

In life and on the water we need to savor the dolphin love moments.  From those moments we can gather strength weather the storms lurking on the horizon.  We may emerge unscathed if we throw in some caution, vigilance and sometimes some God given luck.

Seven Days, Sailing the Blues

The best tropical conch salad!

A Hike To The Beach - Sunday came early bringing daylight savings time, sunny skies and calm, clear, powder blue waters. Back in kayak mode, I paddle across Thompson Bay, Long Island, heading towards the white sand beach on the north shore.  After securing the floating blue plastic boat to a sturdy overhanging branch, I begin a 40 minute hike through wilderness paths of foliage, roads and rocks leading to Beach 108. 

The path curls from the beach into a well traveled wooded area, around a fresh water well, and ends at a dirt road.  After a turn onto Queens Highway, I pass a pink house on the left and an open rocky pasture with free range chickens and goats. Eight telephone poles later the entrance to the beach path, marked with a faded buoy, appears.

A natural arched cathedral of bushes and small silvery trees create a flickering tunnel. Light filters through the leaves of the native shrubs and bushes.  The soft path, covered by fallen leaves and palm fronds, becomes rocky and harder to climb as the elevation increases.

The foliage parts and the vista is breathtaking at the peak.  A cool breeze tilts my hat and cools my cheeks.  Below brilliant blues of the Atlantic Ocean and the  yellow green of swaying palms call come on down.  I go. 

Sailing The Blues -  Monday morning is moving day.  The dinghy engine is winched up onto the deck.  Gas cans and water jugs are secured.  With anchor up and locked down, Ed raises the mainsail while I hold the boat into the wind.  The jib unfurls and away we go across the wild blue yonder.

The skies are blue.  Even the few stretched cottony clouds show baby blue from the various hues of azul reflecting off the waters to the left.  The deeper Atlantic side is royal and violet blue.  Neon blue flashes sparkle on the wavelets as they move through the sun's rays.  Aquamarines, teals, and all the blues in between show off their finery today.

Shopping - Tuesday finds Imagine anchored off Elizabeth Harbor near Great Exuma.  We listen to the weather on SSB and the cruisers net on the VHF.  It's time to get ready for the blow. 

While we won't get any of that cold white stuff, we do jump into the dinghy and head into town for bread, milk, fresh veggies, and cookies for a special treat.  It's nice to be back in port where provisioning is easy.  Boxed milk gets a little old and baking bread every three or four days is fun... for a while

A Front Blows Through - Wednesday dawns with gray ominous clouds blocking the tropical sun.  Already, Imagine has clocked with the lighter winds from the east to the south east, to south, and southwest.  Winds quickly pick up as a squall nears.  The first heavy rain drops tat tat on the scurry to shut the hatches and portholes.  We tie buckets to the deck no they don't blow away in the 30 knot storm winds.

Fresh rain water cleans tenacious salt crystal from the decks. Imagine dances from side to side swinging on the anchor as the prefrontal chaos moves through. Suddenly the squalls quiet and a steady northwest wind becomes north and northeast at 20 knots.  It was a good day to hang and begin a new book.

Hello and Goodbye - On Thursday the wind has slowed to a comfortable 12 knots out of the east, northeast.  With the dinghy down, we hop into our rubber water taxi and head to another anchorage to say goodbye to some cruising friends heading north to Ontario, Canada on Satuday. 

On the way we meet other cruisers we've met along our five year journey.  It's nice to run into George and Julie from Sequel and Mark and Kathy from Carina.  Living a life upon the sea often finds us suddenly waving goodbye and hello to friends along the way.

Celebrating Bahamian Culture - Friday finds us attending the annual Bahamian Heritage and Music Festival.  Native foods such as guava duff, conch salad and steamed snapper draw us to the colorful red, yellow and blue food booths. 

Cane barking, coconut husking, onion peeling, and mango eating contests draw competitive contenders who bring their own cheering sections.  It's a hoot to watch contestants peel a three foot section of raw sugar cane using only their teeth.  Peeling onions without a knife, with only a good grip and a flick of the wrists takes a lot of practice.

Straw work, wood carving, story telling, and games for children keep the festivities moving along until evening when the music begins.  Gospel, reggae, Bahamian, and contemporary music draws cruisers, tourists and locals to regatta park for three nights of music that runs into the wee hours of the morning.  What a great way to get to know and learn more about our Bahamian neighbors

Reaching Out to Family - Saturday rolls around with light winds and a perfect day to go gunk holing in the dinghy.  But first I need a family fix.  I call my parents just to let them know I'm thinking of them.  I call my son to hear how the nearly nine month old granddaughter is doing. The three Alloway/Mannington grandchildren and the eldest daugher make me smile.  Finally I call the middle child with a list of things to bring when she comes to visit Imagine in April.

It's been a busy week full of activities, vibrant blues, storms, culture, friends and family.  People often ask what we do each day.  The answer is all of the above plus beach combing, fishing, snorkeling, boat mainenace, jewelry making, reading, writing, meeting friends for sundowners, making baskets and exploring new ports.  The list goes on, and on, and on.  

The Snow Children

Not original snow children

Far from the snow belt, winter stories filter across the electronic divide. Social media, news and e-mail remind me how fortunate I am to bask in the tropical rays of  the sun.  

One heart warming tale,  The Snow Children,  written by boating friend, Keith White, arrived via e-mail. I can't erase it from my thoughts.

It's a true story, a good news story. It demonstrates that, even in the midst of a snowy, rainy, cold, and bleak winter, gifts of kindness lurk. The unexpected gifts promise to put sunshine into a dreay day, warm the heart, and sustain thesoul.

White wrote in February that it had snowed several times in one week. One of the snowfalls resulted in a "very nice and unexpected experience."  That snowy day brought a serendipitous  message of hope the day that The Snow Children arrived on his doorstep.  White turned the experience into the following story.

"Wednesday night it snowed about four inches.  The snow was wet and heavy. About mid-morning I looked out of the upstairs bedroom window and saw what I thought was two girls shoveling snow in the driveway," the story opened..

White had not heard anyone ring the doorbell so he went downstairs and said to his wife, Mary, "There are two young girls shoveling snow in our driveway." She replied that she had called for the man to come and plow the driveway and that he would arrive very soon. She didn't know anything about the children outside  shoveling.

White returned upstairs.  When he looked out again the plowman had arrived and was in the process of clearing the snow away. The two young people stood to one side and watched the plowman as he finished.

To White's amazement the two snow children started back to work and began clearing away small ridges of snow that the edges of the plow left behind. They then began and shoveling the path to the front door.

"I was now sure that the bigger of the two young people was a girl. Her face was pink from being in the cold and the wind. Her long black hair was blowing out behind as the hood of her anorak had fallen back," he wrote.

He continued, "I then noticed the smaller of two was a boy. He was wearing one of those hats that came down over his ears. I thought they might be brother and sister."

Puzzled, White still didn't know what to make of all of this. Why had they come? Should he go down and pay them? He thought he should, and so he did.

"I went down and opened the garage door and  held out some money for the girl.
She grinned and shook her hand back and forth indicating it wasn't necessary.  She walked over, "No," she said, "There is nothing to pay." "She then handed me a card, the size of a business card.  This is what it read,"You are the recipient of one of 

80 Acts of Kindness

In celebration of the 80th birthday

Of our incredible Pop Pop

Let your kindness flow

And pass it on.

Smiling and  overwhelmed by the surprise, White asked the children for their names.  "Carter and Hayley," the girl replied.  He asked where they lived.  The snow children said, "Two houses down, the one with the green roof." "The one with the dogs," Whitee asked? "Yes,"  the girl nodded affirmatively and grinned.

With card in hand, White said that he went back inside feeling quite emotional. "It seemed like something of a revelation to discover, or rediscover people, families like that still existed in this world of greed, extreme fundamentalists, iPods, apps, stuff and corruption."

I could almost hear White's fading British accent in his words, "All day I warmed myself with this unexpected experience and now I have filed it away with some of my other best thoughts to take out when I need it. So all the snowy days were not for naught after all."

I too was warmed by the story of two very special snow children, the parents who are teaching them and their incredible Pop Pop celebrating his 80th birthday.  What a special gift.

White followed the story with a report that weather has improved at last.  "I'm waiting for the ice to melt on the docks, and in the cockpit, so I can work on the boat."  White's boat, Rose, shares a summer dock with Imagine in Galena, MD.

He finishes his e-mail missive by sharing his next boat project.  He calls it his "joyful project plan."

"I'm going to decorate each of the lockers in which my cutlery, plates, glasses, etc are kept. They will be my "Impressionist Lockers". Each will have an impressionist painting at the back, varnished over, a sexy surrounding background color to blend with the painting, say lilac, and a deep velvety color for the shelf, say plum," he continues.

"There will be a Renoir locker, one for Degas, one for Gaughin, one for Modigliani, even though he came later. And so on. Not visible, only when you go to find a wine glass or an espresso cup; silly idea really, but fun to do after the must do jobs."

White, who is in his seventh decade possesses an upbeat and can do attitude even after losing an arm to cancer several years ago. This dynamo of  a man does more with his remaining arm than most people will ever do with two.

My friend's e-mail is one that I will keep.  So many lessons of  life are contained within.  Make life easier with a random act of kindness, pay it forward, take time to play, find a silly project, have fun, don't let adversity get you down, enjoy life.

And finally, when the winter seems unending, gray and overcast, look for the snow children.

Tug of War

A recent series of mistakes on Imagine created a medical emergency that could have resulted in injuries far worse than they were.

Playing tug of war with one of the two lines towing the dinghy while under way was not a good idea,  Two weeks later, I type this column using two thumbs.  Injuries on both hands slowly and painfully continue to heal from rope buns that tore away skin and tissue below.

The first mistake was not removing the outboard motor from the light gray dinghy before leaving the still waters of  Raccoon Cay for South Side Bay in the Ragged Islands, nearly 15 miles away.

It was calm. The waters were clear and flat.  Skies were blue. The sun was bright. Yes, both my husband and I know better than to rely on visual, and even predicted, weather.

The wind picked up enough to unfurl the head sail.  We motor sailed along at five knots. The dinghy, with its outboard tilted upwards, started to bounce as wind driven waves began to form.  Would it tow better if we let out some more line?

The second mistake was not dousing the sail and slowing the boat as we lengthened the lines.

Mistakes three and four included not grabbing my sailing gloves and not cleating off the line before husband, Ed, began to feed line out.

Mistake number five, and perhaps the biggest mistake of the morning, was attempting to play tug of war in an effort to hold the dinghy while the boat sails along.

Never, never hold onto a line under that kind of load. You will not win!  I was lucky to escape with fingers intact as a result of this misadventure that occurred  miles away from other boats and medical care.

Ed quickly notices the plan is not working and drops the bow line while I looked away in an attempt to cleat off the stern line.  This pulled the dinghy on a broadside tilt. It begin to swamp.  Ed shouts. "Let go!" I do, but not before the line rakes through my  hands. The damage is done.

Ed stops the boat and furls head sail.  I unclench and try to ignore my bloody hands. I grab the boat hook as we turn to retrieve the barely floating dinghy. Ed climbs over the stern to secure and bail the wayward rubber boat, I run below to quickly rinse my hands and cover six fingers and my palm with bandages.  

Pain shoots down my wrist and up my arm.  Ed continues to bail the dink as he runs the outboard to counteract any immersion issues.  He does not yet know the extent of the rope burns.

With two good fingers, I put Imagine in gear, slightly above idle.  We move along at 1.5 knots as we get back on course.  Ed climbs aboard.  With stern mounted davits, Ed lifts the dinghy, with motor on.  If only we did that earlier?

We anchor.  I fill a bowl with sterilized and cooled water from the water maker. I soak my hands, adding ice while swallowing ibuprofen for the pain.  I refuse to give into tears as I look at my battered hands knowing the first aid supplies stowed on the boat will have to suffice.

Ed covers the open burns with prescription burn cream, wrapping my hands loosely with non stick pads and gauze.  Later I take some leftover pain medication from a previous outpatient surgery and try to rest.

At 5:00 p.m., Ed tunes into the Do Dah Net via the Single Side Band radio.  When they  ask for emergency or priority traffic, Ed asks if anyone can recommend treatment.

A physician on the catamaran Salty Paws is listening.  On another frequency, he asks questions.  Ed emails photos.  While skin has been removed with some fat tissue, the injury will not require us to head for Nassau any the nearest hospital, nearly three days away by boat.

There is a small clinic on Ragged Island with a nurse on call if infection sets in.

Another boat, five miles away,  hears Ed on the radio, and offers additional burn cream.  Marilyn, the first mate on Discovery, is a retired pharmacist.  The following day, Ed moves Imagine to Hog Cay anchorage where Discovery and three other boats are anchored.

The ritual of soaking hands and dressing the wounds three times of day has begun.  Ed has taken over all the galley chores.  He's learned to make bread.  "It sure looks a lot easier from where I sit," he says.    "Where do all these dishes come from," he asks?

A week after the initial foray into the category of dumb mistakes, Ed takes me to shore  for  a walk on the beach. We are waved over by a couple on the catamaran, Carina.

Cathy, a retired registered nurse, who has experience with burn patients, examined my hands and explained that the pink line beginning to form around the circumference of the wound was healthy tissue coming back and that burns heal from outside in.  She also sent us home with a care package of additional dressing material.
The feedback and concern of other boaters was amazing.  Doctors, nurses and pharmacists on boats are priceless.

The experience serves as a reminder to stay alert and not to get lazy when it comes to safety.  A friend  on another boat, said that my experience, encouraged her to dig out her own sailing gloves to keep nearby in the cockpit.  "I've  been lucky," she said.

The upside of  this misadventure is that I've made some new boating friends and I have finally had the opportunity to know what it feels like to be a boat princess.  I lounge. I read. I nap. I listen to the radio.  My meals appear magically, although I do hear a lot of banging in the galley.

As far as the princess part... not my cup of tea.  And the hands, slowly they heal, with a little help from my husband, and some new boating friends.