Rainy days in Paradise

“Everyone wants happiness. No one wants pain. But you can’t have a rainbow without a little rain.” Anonymous

My last post reflected joy and ebullience born of celebrating birthday milestones at sea while exploring true paradise. A few dedicated readers (thank you!!) reached out to let us know how much they enjoyed the writing and the story. It feels relatively easy to share when life is all unicorns and roses. What would you want to share- or people want to listen to- when times are a little tougher?

It’s often said that while sailing, the highs are higher and the lows are lower. I often doubt this type of conventional wisdom. Conventional wisdom and its accompanying witticisms(memes in today’s world!) are often gross generalizations, even if they are borne of experience. As a one-woman case study, though, my lived experience is that the highs are higher and lows are lower.

Who wants to hear whiners from the Bahamas? That would be no one. When questioned if we get tired of being in the Bahamas, living in close quarters in this glorious 42-foot tiny home with each other 24-7 or if we ever have a bad day, my daughter Violet answers for me, quipping, “The sun shines too brightly, the sand is too sandy, and the sunsets are just plain boring.”

So, what then?

We are safe. We are happy(see our Adiona Creed in a previous blog post). Adiona’s systems are mostly functioning. Our

Our wave mosaic, fresh focaccia, port light gasket replacement.

boat issues aren’t currently stopping us. Yes, the boat has them, just like her people. Our house is both our home and vessel bobbing around in salt water. Salt corrodes. The ocean and winds work their powers on the boat and crew. For those who don’t have experience owning a boat; all boats break. New ones, old ones. Well-maintained ones. Neglected ones, most definitely, usually when it is most inconvenient or even dangerous. The longer we cruise, the more we joke that everyone’s vessel seems to be in a state of constant disrepair. The cruiser’s net here in George Town, for example, begins each morning asking for any boat with emergencies to come forward before eventually arriving at “boater’s general,” where captains seek parts and assistance on myriad repairs. The radio crackles throughout the day, not just with announcements about the bonfire this afternoon, a happy hour gathering or yoga on the beach, but calls for more tools and pleas for know-how.

Okay- the point of this rambling preamble? It’s this: when things go wrong or weather is adverse, life can just —-. I couldn’t find a polite word to fill in the blank that my mom would approve, so I leave it to your imagination.

We spent one terrifying night at Hawksbill Cay. The wind was supposed to shift to the south, protecting the mooring(it was a super yacht one, at least) we had picked up a few hours before sunset. Instead, storms raged around us for hours a northern cold front stalled overhead. The sky crackled with a lightening storm that lasted hours. The wind howled directly at us, 30 knots all night long. Lightening flashed vertically and sideways, illuminating the sky in patterns like graceful branches on a tree. Joe said he’d never seen anything like it even in all his years at sea. Waves even broke across the bow. We stood watch in the cockpit, key in the ignition, safety equipment at the ready in case we broke free. A rocky shoreline stood yards behind us. At first, our adrenaline levels were high but after watching hours of a fantastical show we each ended up falling asleep for a few hours, numb and depleted from the stress as well as the jerking movement of the boat.

The next morning, lingering frontal activity caused a number of water spouts around us. At one time, there were three barreling towards us. We were tired, yet unscathed. We heard tales of lost dinghies, a boat struck by lightening, resulting in the loss of the engine, all power and all electronics gone. The item they were most upset about was the lack of a working toilet! I get that. One super yacht at nearby Highborne Cay dragged its anchor, causing panic onboard and to nearby boats and yachts. We left the mooring without exploring the island; the wind was still elevated and we just wanted to hide someplace that was protected.

Why did I tell the above? Because of this: That situation did not stop us in our tracks. We also had our long repair in Fernadina Beach/Jacksonville this winter and a fire aboard a few years ago in Maine. We are currently facing one issue though, that has stopped us.

Happy beach day, communing with rare black rock iguanas, view skyward inside Thunderball Grotto.

When I was initially creating the blog, Joe wanted me to subtitle the blog: “Things Joe broke today.” I believe that has happened only once, fairly recently, when he performed some maintenance on the squeaky windlass(raises and lowers the anchor chain) one morning as I made breakfast. Somehow it jammed. A few minutes of Joe loudly considering in salty language that we would not have a windlass until we returned to the states were not happy ones. Hauling up more than 100 feet of chain and the 27 kilo anchor by hand!? I will never know what happened exactly, but after a good breakfast, a whole lot of stuff came out of the workbench. Then I heard pounding on the bow- metal against metal. Finally, Joe announced that he had “cobbled” the windlass together so we could drop the hook next to Thunderball Grotto.

What does that have to do with my back? For one; when the windlass story unfolded, I encouraged(while counseling calm) Joe to Mcgiver a fix because my back, always a bit sensitive, would not allow me to pull it up by hand and it wouldn’t be much better for him.

At this writing, I think the subtitle of the blog should be, Things on Mary broke today.” A month ago, the top to our refrigerator slipped from my hand and caught my thumb between the corner of the refrigerator top and the refrigerator, leaving a deep nasty cut and blood blister. There was no snorkeling for more than a few days as the cut healed well enough to go back in the water for a prolonged swim. But heal it did and it really didn’t stop us from enjoying our time in Warderick Wells. We hiked instead!

But my back? It has stopped us here in George Town. The events leading up to the injury are small and seemingly inconsequential. The moment, bending over to release the snubber as we were dragging at anchor early one morning, trite. But the pain and the immobility, show-stopping. Standing and moving on a boat is a core exercise in itself.

Climbing up and down, ducking and pulling items from the fridge and settee all require some flexibility and strength. Climbing off the boat means putting one foot on the rub rail and stepping down into an unstable dinghy or climbing down our swim ladder, which equals hip flexibility. Then there are dinghy rides over bumpy seas. It is rare that Elizabeth Harbor is smooth as glass. Instead, I have walked around the boat posture like Frankenstein, looking for a comfortable place to perch or recline, while trying not to infect the captain with my sense of doom, frustration and guilt that can be brought on by being so disabled.

All around us, cruisers have been gathering for happy hours and excursions. People we met the first few days invited us, but as we couldn’t go, have gradually drifted away, ties not tight. People are here in George Town to party! We are watching from the sidelines and that definitely feels a little lonely.

While I lay in various states of repose on ice packs or practiced my gentle yoga and si joint resets from my chiropractor/ physical therapist, days have passed. More than a week, matter of fact. Joe, ever patient partner and captain, has employed his time industriously. The swim ladder now has teak steps, which did make it easier for me to climb off and on the one calm hour I’ve been ashore in the last week. He has stayed on the boat outside of one quick garbage run because if something happens, I wouldn’t be able to move to take care of it.

A bit of guitar playing, card playing, backgammon while standing and watching movies from our hard drive have filled some time. A long talk with my mom, calls with my kids and a few other friends and family have vastly cheered us. We have made some tentative inquiries to find crew in case I cannot complete the journey, a nagging concern.

Joe rebuilt four port lights that were leaking, we finished a little offering for the art walk at the workbench since standing is better for me than sitting. We have new hooks for hanging wet laundry, a light on a dimmer switch in the bookcase in our main salon, our Bahama Mama sculpture is set in place and a little sea fan sculpture we made has found a home in the head. The exterior port light screen shades we had made in Fort Pierce are finally installed, replacing the tacky car windshield covers with which we had covered the port lights inside the cabin. The exterior shades filter the sunlight so the interior is still light; the windshield covers, while effective, costing literally a few dollars, a roll of Velcro and time, create a gloomy, cave-like atmosphere.

We both studied the Dominican Republic as a destination. I reached out to a boat sitter in Luperon to get the down-low. We hoped to join the tail end of the migration southward this season but we were unable to get the batteries our house bank sorely needs and did not have a few other items we deem essential: paper charts and insurance. And then my back. So we will follow Bruce Van Sant’s advice to new cruisers(Passages South: The Thornless Path to Windward) and return north after year one of the Bahamas before proceeding further south.

I spent hours researching relatively inexpensive marinas for a yard period and insurance, listening to a seminar on the topic, corresponding with other cruisers and agents, shopping for policies. I am happy to report that we are able to find a policy that will cover us to join the Salty Dawg rally to Nova Scotia this summer and all the way south to Trinidad, as we wish to continue a southerly trek next winter to the eastern Caribbean. We found exact replacement batteries and ordered them, a more complex process than one might imagine. The wonderful electrician, Patrick, who helped us with our crank shaft and alternator issues in Jacksonville, will pick them up and meet us in Fernandina Beach when we finally get there!

As I write this, still reclining on the settee, I am feeling cautiously optimistic. I am maintaining my regimen of ice, gentle movement, rest and ibuprofen. I found myself in the galley yesterday, baking focaccia and chocolate chip cookies. Joe, on the phone with Britta, remarked that was a sure sign that I was on the mend. Baking- the joy of creating and sharing- as well as eating it- as always been a source of joy for me. That might be the topic of the next blog..

In the meantime, I hope to report that we are happily sailing northward for a summer where we will see many miles under our hull. I don’t believe I will be able to exactly call myself a newbie after this summer, as it is at least 1500 nm of sailing. Then back.

It’s hard to believe we are planning a return to cold waters and home of the great white sharks, instead of the enchanting, clear water that hold small, mostly friendly Caribbean sharks. Sailing to Nova Scotia is a bucket list item though, and since it may not make sense to sail south this summer, we’ll sail north. At least that is the current plan. Sailing and plans, as we already know, don’t always align. We will find out what Neptune and Salacia, Amphitrite and Poseidon have in store for us. Hopefully, they will smile benignly upon Adiona, the Roman goddess of safe returns for travelers.

Rays swimming to be petted- or fed in George Town.