December 23 - 25, 2006

Christmas in the Bahamas

After five long weeks in North Palm Beach, Florida, the boat is finally ready to go and we have a favorable weather forecast. Although the Bahamas are only 50 miles across the Florida Straits, this short passage can be treacherous in the wrong weather. Just a few miles east of the Florida coast, a mariner encounters the mighty Gulf Stream, an ocean river about 25 miles wide flowing northward at 2-4 knots. A strong wind blowing out of the north will collide with the Gulf Stream current and produce tall, choppy waves called "white elephants." The hapless crew caught in these conditions will be forced to turn tail and run back to Florida battered and bruised, but wiser for the next try. The optimum conditions for crossing the Gulf Stream are a southeast to south wind of not more than 15 knots and calm seas. We have just such a forecast for Saturday, December 23rd.

At 4:00 P.M. we pass the Lake Worth sea buoy. Just ahead are our buddy boats: Pegasus, Irish Fever, Shian, and Royal Serf. We remain within sight and radio contact of these boats during the night, giving us all a sense of comfort that we aren't out there alone. Under main, mizzen, and jib, Caribbean Soul glides along comfortably under a canopy of twinkling stars. We enjoy the best offshore sail of our cruise thus far.

Unfortunately we can't relax and simply enjoy the wonderful sailing conditions because of the busy shipping traffic that plies the Florida Straits. Big ships running at 20+ knots can quickly overtake a slow sailboat, leaving little time to react. When I take my watch at 9:00 P.M., Nick and I discuss the vessels within sight or indicated on radar. One vessel is of particular concern. Through the binoculars I can see a green light indicating the starboard (right) side of a vessel, but the surrounding white lights are confusing. It might be running parallel, but the radar shows it getting closer. Nick goes below to shower while I keep a wary eye on the mysterious vessel.

I soon call down to him, "You need to get up here. This thing is getting closer and we're going to have to do something." "I'm covered in soap!" he cries. "Rinse off! And do it quickly." I shine a spotlight on our sails hoping to catch the attention of someone on the bridge of the approaching ship, assuming anyone is even on watch. On the radar screen, an orange blob looking like a gaping Pacman mouth is bearing down on the little triangle that represents our boat. I shine the spotlight again. The vessel's course is unchanged and it is now within the three-mile ring on the radar.

Nick appears in the companionway trying to pull on a pair of shorts. "I don't care if you're naked. Get up here now!" I demand. I can clearly see the outline of a large ship coming from slightly astern and off our port (left) side. We're on a collision course! With three sails flying, our only option is to make a sharp left turn downwind. The ship passes about a quarter of a mile off our starboard side, intersecting our original course line. As we watch in stunned silence, we can smell the ship's diesel fumes. When the ship's stern light fades into the darkness, we return to our course. "Guess I won't need that cup of coffee to stay awake after all," I tell Nick.

About an hour after our near-miss, two cruise ships negotiate a port-to-port pass just a couple of miles behind us. Another ship, twice as long as the cruise ships (an aircraft carrier, we think) appears on our port side and passes behind us. We watch in amazement as the three mega-ships dodge each other in the darkness and say a "thank you" that we weren't just a few miles behind in the middle of the traffic jam.

Around midnight, the water depth suddenly changes from too-deep-to-read to 25 feet. We've crossed the Gulf Stream and are now on the Little Bahama Bank north of Memory Rock. When I take my watch again at 3:00 A.M., the radar hasn't shown any boats (except the sailboats ahead) for hours. I ponder whether we should turn it off. Even as that thought lingers in my head, I see a new orange blip on the radar. It's about two miles ahead directly on our course line. The size indicates a smaller boat, but it isn't moving. Once again, I call Nick to the helm to help me assess the situation. Visibility is practically nil under the moonless and hazy sky. We turn on the engine and steer around the mysterious object. We guess it's a fishing boat anchored without a light. As we pass the boat about half a mile off our starboard side, we still cannot see it. If we hadn't been running our radar, we wouldn't have seen the unlit boat until we hit it. Thank goodness we fixed our Furuno.

By now I've had enough of this endless night and things that go bump in the dark. When Nick resumes his watch just before dawn, I say there's no way I'm missing this sunrise. Soon an orange glow on the eastern horizon reveals clear, green water as far as we can see. The boat looks like it's sailing in a bathtub. We're in paradise--finally! It's Christmas Eve, so we play Christmas music and I cook some breakfast tacos.

We arrive in Great Sale Cay before noon and anchor with our buddy boats. The cay is uninhabited, which is just as well since we can't go ashore until we check into customs. A cold front is on the way, so we agree to ride it out here and do a Christmas potluck.

On Christmas Day we sing happy birthday to Dakota, who has now spent 10 years as a spoiled yacht dog. Wayne and Millie on Irish Fever host the potluck dinner and white elephant gift exchange. We're joined by Pegasus, Pelican, and Royal Serf. The food is fabulous and the company even better. Although we miss our families, we feel blessed to spend this holiday with such a great group of compadres. It is indeed a Merry Christmas in paradise.