Date: 12 April, 2001
Port of Call: Brunswick, GA
Subject: Coming Home
Although we have only covered 500 miles since our last CruiseNews, we are worlds away from the isolation of the Exumas, from where we last wrote. We are now in Brunswick, Georgia, back in the same marina at the same dock where we began this cruise. We are in the land of automobiles, Wal-Marts, superhighways, and TV. It's quite a change from lying at anchor, reading books and watching the sun mark the progress of the days.
We wound up spending six days in Warderick Wells, Exumas while waiting out the passage of a cold front. Finally on March 23 we raised anchor and motored out the pass towards Eleuthera Island. We motorsailed and then motored the 47 miles to Rock Sound as the northerly wind slowly diminished from 10 knots to almost calm.
Rock Sound is a large harbor, perhaps a mile across, with two almost-overlapping hooks of land protecting the western entrance of the harbor. On a chart, it is shaped something like the can opener on a Boy Scout knife. We anchored at the eastern side in the middle of the long, curving bight, just off the small town. The next day we went ashore to buy some groceries and propane, and were fortunate to be given a lift (both ways!) by the man who drove the truck for the local gas company.
The following day we were under way by 0745. We motored across perfectly flat water. There was not a ripple of breeze on the surface, and since we were crossing the banks behind Eleuthera Island, there was not even the rise and fall of an ocean swell. We could see the sea bottom ten to twenty feet below us as clearly as if we were sailing through air. Starfish and patches of sea grass passed below us as the autopilot steered a perfectly straight course for mile after mile. At around 1400 we were off the narrow cut into Hatchet Bay, and by 1415 the anchor was down and set.
Hatchet Bay is probably the best-protected harbor in the Bahamas. It is completely landlocked except for the very narrow cut into the harbor. No current rushes through it, and while we were there the wind stayed light. We slept soundly that night in flat calm conditions. We spent the next day walking through the back streets and byways of the little town.
On Tuesday, March 27 we motored about 4 ½ hours on to Royal Island. Along the way we saw the dark tendrils of three waterspouts reach down from the clouds towards the surface of the water. Fortunately they were well to one side of our course and never actually touched the water's surface, so they were more a curiosity than a danger. As soon as we had dropped the anchor at Royal Island we were invited to a B.Y.O. cocktail party at the plantation ruins on the island. That evening we got together with dozens of other boaters and swapped sea stories in the tile-floored ruins of the old main house.
Although not well protected from winds from east through south to southwest, we spent four nights waiting for a fair wind for the trip up to the Abaco chain of the Bahamas. At about 0430 of our third night's stay a squall came through the harbor, bringing frequent lightning and strong gusty winds. Our GPS alarm and our depthsounder alarm both went off, signaling that our anchor was dragging. We soon found ourselves on the north side of the harbor, with Sovereign's keel pounding on the bottom as the boat alternately lifted on the crests and fell in the troughs of the steep chop. With a combination of running the engine at full throttle and pulling in on the anchor chain we were able to free ourselves and re-anchor the boat in the flickering light afforded by the frequent lightning. After daylight, we picked up anchor and moved over to a more protected spot on the other side of the harbor. Looking back on the episode, we realized that that was the first time we could remember actually dragging Sovereign's anchor. We napped part of the day trying to catch up on lost sleep and anticipating an early departure for the Abacos the following morning.
Just after daybreak on the last day of March, with a forecast promising a nice sail, we raised anchor and headed out the harbor at Royal Island. Once clear of the small cays around Royal, we raised sail and pointed the bow due north to the Abacos. The wind was much lighter than forecast, and our full working sail plan proved to be too small to push us fast enough to make the next harbor before dark. We broke out the spinnaker for only the third time on the whole trip, and for about a half-hour we enjoyed running downwind under the brightly colored sail. Unfortunately, the wind soon became too light for even the spinnaker, and we wound up taking it down and motoring the rest of the way to Pelican Point on Abaco Island.
Dolphins swim at Sovereign’s bow
The next day brought us to Marsh Harbour, the metropolitan hub of the
Abacos. We spent a day ashore shopping and preparing the boat for our
anticipated passage back to the U.S. We stowed the dinghy on deck,
rigged the jack lines, and did all the other preparations we normally make
for an offshore passage. Cathy baked lasagna for our next few meals
so that she wouldn't have to cook under way. We went to bed early,
thinking it would be our last good night's sleep for a few days. By the next morning a previously unmentioned cold front started appearing in the weather forecasts, so we decided to hop up the island chain instead of proceeding with our original plan to head directly back to the U.S. We spent the next two days motoring up the Abacos, overnighting at Allan's Pensacola Cay and Double-Breasted Cay. We were unable to enter one of the better protected areas at Double-Breasted Cay, and wound up spending a lumpy day waiting out a cold front anchored in the unprotected waters in front of the Cay. After a sleepless night at Double-Breasted, we motored across the banks to Great Sale Cay, where we finally found protection from the northeasterly winds. We again turned in early, and caught up on some of the sleep we had been missing.
The next morning was April 7, and with a favorable forecast, we headed due west from Great Sale Cay, across the Bahama Banks to where the Banks give way to deep water and the Gulf Stream. The wind was lighter than forecast, and we wound up motoring all the way across the banks, reaching Memory Rock just before sunset. Once we reached deep water, we turned Sovereign's bow north, cut the engine, and started sailing. For the next eight hours we had some of our best sailing ever. The night sky immediately after sunset turned red from horizon to horizon. It was a textbook example of the sailor's rhyme "Red sky at night, sailor's delight." Even with the relatively light wind, we were still making good around six knots, thanks to a one- to two-knot push from the Gulf Stream. By 0200 the wind had died and we were motoring again. Through the rest of the night and into the next day we logged higher and higher speeds as the Gulf Stream eventually rose to a 4.1 knot favorable push. During a period of five hours we made good over 50 miles, and in a mere 49 hours we had covered the 330 miles from Great Sale, Bahamas to Brunswick, Georgia.
Landfall at St. Simon’s Island, Georgia
We made landfall at the St. Simon's lighthouse just at sunrise on April
9th. We motored through the Lanier Bridge at 0830, all the while marveling
at the new bridge under construction that is rising up to dwarf the older
lift bridge. By 0900, after nearly two years and 8000 sea miles, we
were once again tied up at Brunswick Landing Marina.We are glad to be back in Brunswick, even if it is only for a short while. We are enjoying seeing all our old friends and coworkers, and seeing what has changed and what remains the same. We keep stumbling over the semantics of being here. For twelve years we have regarded Sovereign, no matter where she is, as home. But somehow being here, back in the United States in general, and back in Brunswick in particular, Sovereign feels more like "home" than ever.
Smooth sailing,
Jim and Cathy