Attitude Adjustment in Abaco 2001 Part 12

Attitude Adjustment in Abaco 2001 Part 12
Dr.Ralph <rbundy@cfl.rr.com> -- on Friday 8/17/01 @ 7:11 p.m. EST

Thursday, July 19 and Friday, July 20
"Today's your last day in Abaco, we can do anything you want, I'll take you anywhere from Little Harbour to Manjack." Bunny ponders this question over her morning coffee. The low in the Gulf is no better organized, and Bob doesn't sound as concerned as he did yesterday, so we have elected to stick to our original plan and cross the Stream Saturday morning. "If you like, we can go on a shopping trip: Marsh Harbour, Hopetown, New Plymouth, you name it."

Bunny's tempted for a moment, but there are shops aplenty in Florida. "I really enjoyed grouper fishing yesterday, I think I want to do that. What about you?"

"That sounds good to me, but I'd like to finish the day down in Pelican Cove, I missed it yesterday." Bunny smiles, she knows it's my favorite spot in all of Abaco, and she likes finishing the day there as well. "OK, it's a plan."

Things don't move quickly this morning. It's even hotter than yesterday, and tomorrow and Saturday will be travel days, so we take our time. Lines are off by 10:30; before we head out we stop at the fuel dock and take on 150 gallons. Added to the 60 or so we already have, this should give us plenty for today and our 125 nm run tomorrow. We take the same route we did yesterday, through South MOW Channel, then WNW along the reef. Since Bunny caught the "good fish" on our last expedition, she gives me the first "up."

My bad luck continues: our first hit is a small cuda, maybe two feet, and we release him after a brief fight. Bunny does no better, hauling in a three-footer a few minutes later. At noon I get the hit of the day, just off the cut between Scotland and Guana. This fish makes several determined surface runs against 20 pounds of drag, and I start to suspect that it's not a bottom fish. I finally work him to boatside; it's a big jack, 18 pounds. We don't eat these fish, but I'll bet our friend the cook back at Seaspray will be thrilled with it, so it goes in the box.

After two hours Bunny wonders if we might do better by stopping and bouncing jigs and cut bait on the bottom. Might as well; she picks up the rod on the starboard side and brings in the plug, and I do the same for the port. As I am cranking I am aware of a very subtle vibration, and as I reach for the leader I see what appears to be a second plug. But it's a little yellowtail, mad as hell; he has whacked a plug that's actually bigger than he is, and he can't get off. We laugh, take his picture, then gently release him.

At 1:30 there is no air movement and no cloud cover, just heat, humidity, and stillness. We both take a cool shower, then load up our 12-pound spinning rigs and drop them into 40 feet of water. The boat drifts slowly NW over mottled bottom; in 20 minutes Bunny gets a few taps on her piece of conch, but I pull in two fat red hinds. Then she gets a nice hit; this fish is pulling hard, and she has to finesse him against relatively light drag. At boatside we get a glimpse of the biggest yellowtail we have ever seen, probably 4-5 pounds. There is a sudden erratic pull, the flash of a large cuda, and then the rod goes limp. Bunny sadly pulls up a very impressive fish head.

Big cudas plus intense heat signal the end of the fishing day, so we pack up our gear. We still have a couple of hours, and Bunny decides she wants to run into Man-O-War settlement to do a little shopping. We throttle up and head SE along the reef, through North MOW Channel, and along the SW shore until we get to the narrow entrance of MOW Harbour. The dock at the grocery is empty, so we tie up side-to and I mind the boat while she gets some ice and a few other things. When she returns, there is still no activity, so we take 15 minutes and pop into Joe's Studio, one of our favorite Abaco gift shops. The first time we visited Joe's in the early 90s I think I spent $400; today the damage is a relatively paltry $62. Some day I'm going to have to pick up one of his half-models.

At 4 we drop anchor in Pelican Cove, and it's not a moment too soon; we are baked. The water is 82, and we welcome its cool relief. There is no surge, no waves, just still, clear water and those gorgeous electric greens. Bunny suggests we have a "shaving party." Although I wear a full beard, I trim my upper cheeks and neck each morning, at least when I'm at home and trying to look responsible. These little grooming activities don't always get done on a daily basis when we're cruising, and I have a healthy stubble. Bunny goes below and retrieves two disposable razors and a can of shave cream; she goes to work on her legs while I do my face. That saltwater burns so good! We dawdle on our noodles while we sip our drinks; this is the last time we'll do this for perhaps a year, and we're reluctant to let go. We talk about dinner: we have plenty of grouper and conch, but Bunny wants to eat out. We haven't done Seaspray's Boathouse Restaurant yet, so that becomes the plan for the evening. The run across the Bank and through Lubber's Channel is gorgeous; we pull up shy of White Sound Mark and start the generator and air conditioner. By 6 PM we are in our slip, washing down Attitude.

We really enjoy tying up at Seaspray. Several of our dockmates are cruising couples not unlike ourselves, and late afternoon is a great time to socialize. The heat is relenting, everyone is back from the day's adventure, people are cooking out, cleaning fish, making drinks, walking up and down the dock, laughing about this or that. By 6:30 we have finished our cleanup, and we should head for the showers, but everyone seems to have a story, and it's hard to walk away, especially on our last night. After a while Bunny drifts down to the restaurant; they don't serve after 9, and somehow it's 8:15, so I guess we have to get moving. We order grouper and conch, what else would we eat on our last night? Back on Attitude we go over tomorrow's plan: it's 125 nm to West End, and barring catastrophe we should make it in about five hours. We'd like to be there by 3, so we need to be away by 10. We square away a few things so that all we have to do in the morning is collect our power cords, hose, and lines. By 11 we're ready to collapse. It's 70 degrees inside Attitude, but I have that baked, glowing sensation that comes from having been in the sun all week. Although we still have another two days of cruising, we have unknowingly seen just about the last of it...

* * * * * * * *

We're up early today, we have a long run to make. Bob's weather forecast calls for variable cloudiness with a ten-knot south wind. The low in the Gulf is evolving, and he predicts increasing clouds and rain for western Abaco and Grand Bahama. We leave Seaspray and pop into Hopetown for a few last minute groceries. At 9:50 I throttle up and we fly westward toward Florida.

There is little wind, the Sea of Abaco is glass, and we relax as Attitude skims along at 27 knots. We pass MOW, Marsh Harbour, and Guana, then ease through a subdued Whale Cay Passage. There's Treasure Cay Beach to port, Green Turtle and Manjack to starboard, and gray clouds ahead. As we round Crab Cay we pick up a little rain; I can see several small showers on the radar, and one massive one off to the west, up toward Carter's Cay. We run west along Little Abaco, and as I pass Veteran Rock the wind begins to pick up; soon we are bumping over a two-foot chop. Our course takes us well south of Great Sayle, and as we make the gentle turn to the NW another cell lights up on the radar. This one is dead ahead, halfway between our present position and the waypoint just north of Mangrove Cay. The sky up there is dark gray, the cell is about four miles in diameter, and I can't detour south because of the shoals that extend north from Grand Bahama. There is, however, fifty miles of open water to the north, so we swing that way in an effort to get around the squall. The strategy works; we pick up 25-30 knot downdrafts for a few moments, but they don't last long enough to stir up the ocean, and the cell actually dissipates as we round its back side.

We pass Mangrove Cay a little after 2, and as we approach Indian Cay the wind lays back down. At 3 we are bobbing on a very flat ocean off Old Bahama Bay at West End. The sky to the west is hazy, but there are no dark clouds, and there's not a breath of wind. I get on the VHF and ask if anyone has just come eastward across the Stream. The response is immediate: someone has just run the 74 nm from Lauderdale to West End in under 3 hours, and says he's never seen the ocean so flat. I thank him, then dial up WX03 in Palm Beach. The digitized voice explains that the low will continue to intensify and slowly drift west. Tomorrow's forecast calls for winds of 10 knots from the SW, increasing to 15-20 by late afternoon, with scattered thunderstorms, becoming numerous by afternoon. It's decision time.

We have two options: we can duck into the marina, fuel up, and rocket across the Stream to Palm Beach, where we can be tied up and sipping cocktails by 6. Or we can stay the night here as planned, and try to beat the bad weather in the morning. This is a tough one: the Bank to our east looks so clear and appealing, and we really want to spend the evening at Old Bahama Bay. We have enjoyed watching the progress of this remarkable development, and we can tell from our vantage point a few hundred yards away that there is a lot to see. We are silent for a moment, then Bunny says, "Let's stay the night, get up and going in the morning."

I remind her of the terrible squall of two weeks ago. "It'll be OK, we'll get in ahead of the weather." We toss it around for a few more minutes, then decide to stay. We drift back onto the Bank on the incoming tide, watching starfish, sea urchins, anemones, small tropical fish, and all our other friends slowly pass under us. The reality of leaving the Islands is heavy, intense, we really don't want to go. At 4 I call OBB on the radio to confirm our reservation; they crisply respond: better come in NOW, the marina is filling up fast. I tell them we'll be at the fuel dock in ten minutes.

Inside, there is chaos. South Florida Yachts is hosting an owner's group rally, and there is a beach party planned for this evening. Boats are converging from every direction, there are banners and booths and flags. Workers are setting up grills and a large sound system across the canal on the beach. The ladies at the fuel dock are overwhelmed; the Dockmaster, Tony, is bouncing around the marina like a pinball, moving boats from slip to slip, trying to make room for more. After 15 minutes he calls the fuel dock on the VHF, asking us to come to the SW corner of the marina, quickly. A 50-foot sailboat creeps out of a slip, and he waves us in, side-to along a 70 foot finger pier. "Gonna have to put another boat in front of you, hope that's OK." I get a quick 30 seconds with Tony; "Is it like this every day?"

Tony takes a deep breath, "The owners have a policy that they don't like to turn anyone away. But as we get bigger and more popular, it's really hard to find room for every boat that comes in on Friday and Saturday." We chat for a moment, then he's off to the Customs office, where a little disturbance has popped up. In a moment a 24-foot center console ties up on the opposite side of our finger pier. There are two young men, maybe twenty, shouting and cursing at each other, obviously trashed. We listen discretely and soon are able to surmise that Individual A is furious because Individual B seems to have lost his wallet and passport. This is exacerbating the fact the Individual A has a felony conviction that Bahamas Immigration has somehow discovered.

Next to our boys is a large Italian yacht; in its cockpit, a quiet, clean cut man of 35 stands beside a stocky cigar-chomping 60-year-old who is watching the boys with obvious amusement. "Wassa matta, boys, trouble with the locals?"

Individual A relates the tale to Stogy: they have run over from Lauderdale with three dancers who have since disappeared. They were going to clear Customs and conveniently forget to mention the girls, but Individual B seems to have lost his @#*% wallet and passport, so the Customs officer has parked them in this slip and told them to have all the required paperwork ready in 15 minutes "or else." Individual B halts the conversation to suggest to A that maybe the official would look more kindly upon their plight if they were to give him some nice dolphin filets. Stogy goads them on, "Hey, Rocket Scientist, that's a great plan. Say, what was that story you were telling about a felony rap?"

A has his head in the fishbox; "I got busted for a fisheries violation, I brought back too many fish."

"Yeah, yeah, brought in some square groupers, huh, that's why they call it dope, kid, har, har." Stogy is winking at Bunny and I, we have to turn away to prevent the boys from seeing us laugh. "Bribing a Custom's official with fish, that's a good move, like they don't ever get any fish around here, har, har." A is pulling out five dolphin; four are 8-10 pounds, one is a schoolie. Naturally, he starts carving the little one.

"Atta boy, Einstein, give 'em the littlest one, don't waste good fish on a bribe, har, har." Stogy is enjoying the hell out of this. "Say, where's them little hookers that came in with you boys? Already put 'em to work, har, har."

"Nobody came in with us," screams A. I'm a licensed captain, I know what I'm doing."

Stogy raises his eyebrows, "Oohhh, a licensed captain, well, I shoulda known, you've really got it together. Say, wear's your Q flag?" (Boats arriving for the first time in foreign ports must raise a yellow "Quarantine flag" until they have been cleared)

A stumbles, "Uh, we don't use one, don't need to."

Stogy pounces, "Oh, that's clever, kinda like sending the hookers to the bar. You're a sharp kid."

A looks up brightly, "Thanks. Say, you don't need a captain do you, I don't have a job right now, I could run that boat for you."

Stogy shakes his head and puts his arm around his younger companion. "This is my son, he's also my captain, but if anything happens to him, you're the first guy I'll call. Gotta card?"

A is beaming, "Thanks, don't have a card, I mean on me, but..."

"Joey, we need more money, we can't pay for any more drinks!" The girl in the lead is waving B's wallet, credit cards and photos are flying everywhere; some go into the water behind Stogy's yacht.

"Hey girls, Joey just sold you guys to Bahamian Customs. You're gonna be dancing at the beach party tonight!" Stogy is really into this.

"Joey, you #$@ *^%, take us home RIGHT NOW, I mean after another drink." She stands with her hands on her hips, and when the boys don't respond, she defiantly tosses B's passport into the drink. "There, now you can't get into the #$%^ Bahamas. We're going home!"

Stogy asks the ladies if they've been into the office for their mandatory VD testing, but pauses to watch B execute a passable swan dive off the dock into the water behind his yacht where he retrieves has passport. Individual A is apoplectic at this point, all five of them are screaming at each other, Stogy offers his services as their attorney, and the Customs Officer quietly watches the melee from the foot of the finger pier. A sees him, the noise settles, and they leave to discuss the situation. He returns in a few moments, minus the two small filets. "We have to go to Freeport to see a supervisor," he tells his crew. They pile into the boat, and the last thing we hear is A telling B that they're going back to Lauderdale. Not a bad decision.

We share a few laughs with Stogy and Son, then finish cleaning Attitude and head for the showers. On the way back to the boat we meet the couple on the big Tiara Express across from us. They are having a problem with their autopilot, and they ask if we know of a mechanic. Last year we had some minor trouble here and called a young man named Garvin who took very good care of Attitude on a Sunday afternoon. The man thanked us and went to the marina office to see if they could find Garvin; they do, and they make arrangements for him to come tomorrow.

We spend a half-hour or so walking around the marina and the surrounding development. I have wonderful memories of visiting the old Jack Tarr Resort here in the 60s, and it was a great disappointment on '92 when we pulled into West End to escape a storm to find the resort boarded up and decaying. But in three years Old Bahama Bay has evolved into a fledgling luxury resort. There are several two-story "cottages" that we hear are going for $300/night, and more are planned. Several homes are taking shape along the western beach and canals. The northern beach has been raked and manicured; it's lovely. Three large buildings on the marina's east side are under construction and appear to be meeting rooms, a restaurant, bar, stores, whatever. Dirt and concrete forms erratically give way to finished landscape. The outline of the pool is taking shape, and it is going to be stunning. Dockage is expensive: $82 for one night ($2.65/foot/night gets you all the water and electric you can eat). There is room for a few more slips in the marina, but I suspect that, considering OBB's strategic location and the scope of this development, dockage availability will become even tighter.

Despite hordes of mosquitoes and noseeums, we grill out on Attitude's transom. West End is well known for its bugs, and they are out in force in the still, heavy air. Bunny puts out a coil, sprays several times with Yard Guard, and we slather on the SSS. All this more or less keeps the bugs at bay, and we are able to cook. After dinner we clean up and slide into our bunks; tomorrow will potentially be a 200-nm passage, and there is uncertainty about the weather.

In the darkness Bunny nestles into her berth. In her last waking moments she hears a high-pitched giggle; the boat lists gently for a moment, but she's drifting off and doesn't notice. The gremlins have finished with the Tiara's autopilot; they have now crept into Attitude's engine room. One of them has a tiny little torque wrench, and to the delight of his comrades slips it over the nut that holds the cable to the shift lever on the big 454 on Attitude's starboard side. The cable slips a few millimeters, the gremlins howl with delight, then they quietly creep out the engine room vent onto the dock, making their way to Stogy's boat...

pictures:
upper: the jack
middle: the little 'tail that could
lower: grooming

Re: Attitude Adjustment Small World!!
Ed Herndon <ed@remedyandcrew.com> -- on Friday 8/17/01 @ 7:57 p.m. EST

Well I'll be flummoxed...

We pulled into West End the same day you did...

But we missed all the fun.

We were docked way down near the end by the Fuel dock.

Remedy is the 48' motor yacht that came in about the same time you did.

Small world!!

Re: Attitude Adjustment Small World!!
Ed Herndon <ed@remedyandcrew.com> -- on Friday 8/17/01 @ 7:57 p.m. EST

Well I'll be flummoxed...

We pulled into West End the same day you did...

But we missed all the fun.

We were docked way down near the end by the Fuel dock.

Remedy is the 48' motor yacht that came in about the same time you did.

Small world!!

Re: West End Experience
"Rag Top" <dave@morehouse.com> -- on Saturday 8/18/01 @ 10:18 p.m. EST

Doc. it sounds like your experience at West End was similar to ours, only we decided to continue on to Hillsboro after Tony was going to put us on a sea wall with the bow of another boat extending over the cockpit of "Rag Top". Maryse said "No Way".
Another option to staying in the marina at West End would be to anchor out just around the corner from the marina we often see many boats at anchor there. We anchor out most of the time and only stay in marinas when the weather is bad or when we need a civilization fix. "Rag Top" is equipped with a Heart 2500 watt inverter which will keep her 15 cubic foot household frig running for about 12 hours without shore power or the generator. When at anchor our normal way of life is to run the generator a couple of hours in the morning while we make coffee and couple of hours in the evening while we do the evening meal and that satisfies the electrical requirements for the day. At night we do not use the generator for the A/C because we don't like the noise. We have a couple of wind shoots for the hatches and at anchor there is always enough breeze to be comfortable.

As all skippers know, the most important thing being comfortable anchoring out is to have adequate ground tackle. "Rag Top" has 150 of 3/8" chain and a Delta anchor. With the Delta anchor we have always managed to set the anchor on the first attempt and have managed to hold with 35 knot blows.

Another option to West End if your vessel can get under a 26 foot bridge and draws less than 5 feet is the Lucayan water way. If you are looking for action then Port Lucaya is the place for you at $1.50 a foot or a really laid back place is Running Mon at $1.00 a foot. Fuel is the same price at all marinas on Grand Bahama.

Re: Sounds like at typical day at OBB!!
Noontide <itsnoontide@yahoo.com> -- on Sunday 8/19/01 @ 9:02 p.m. EST