Wanna Iguana?

We finally made it to the Exumas. Sort of. That’s pronounced “egg-ZOO-mahs” by the way. I used to think it was pronounced “EGG-zoo-mahs”. You know, like eczema, the skin disease. Rick teased me when I said it that way, and responded with, “Yeah, I know those islands. They’re right next to the Psoriases!” Ha ha, very funny.

After a line of mishaps and misadventures that kept us hanging around Nassau and its environs for over two months, at long last we managed to escape. Unfortunately though, our departure did not go unnoticed by the gods, and their punishment was swift. The wind was up and Rick was at the helm. I was down below with my eyes closed, struck with seasickness and waiting for my meds to kick in. Totally unsurprising considering that we had done so little real sailing lately, but still disappointing. As usual, Rick had to handle all of the sailing duties by himself. About two-thirds of the way into our thirty-five mile journey, Rick fired up the engine to help with a sail change. Almost immediately, he noticed a distressing smell in the cockpit – that sour, smoky aroma that can only mean electrical fire. This smell was unfortunately familiar. Four summers ago, Rick was on his way back to Baltimore, soloing on Valkyrie, and the same smell wafted up into the cockpit. Back then, it was the starter motor for the engine that had burned out. This time, Rick did some quick checking, and sure enough, our starter motor was dead.

The engine itself was just fine, but without a starter motor to get it going, you can’t make any use of it. You have no engine. “So, who needs an engine?” you might be thinking. “You’re on a sailboat.” Well, of course it’s true that a sailing vessel can move around without an engine, as long as there is wind. But maneuvering around in small spaces, like an anchorage, is almost always done with engines these days, and for good reason. You have much more control with both speed and steering when you are not under sail. If the wind happens to be strong, while fighting the typically strong Bahamian current, weaving in and out of other boats that might be parked there – things can become quite dangerous in a hurry. If the wind peters out, you are at the mercy of the current. Forget being able to steer your way into a slip. 

I can tell that something is wrong, and scurry out on deck to check in with Rick. He is being incredibly calm under the circumstances, certainly for my benefit, because we are really in a pickle. We have a brief moment of indecision after we turn the boat around to go back to Nassau, but Rick very quickly recognizes that we wouldn’t easily make it into the harbor until after dark, making an already difficult situation a clear recipe for disaster. We decide to reverse course again for Allans Cay, and hope to land there without too many anchored boats to foul us up.

It’s pretty ballsy to show up in an unfamiliar anchorage with no engine, but we lucked out by arriving early when there was only one other boat, a big catamaran in the main section of the little natural harbor. Rick chose our anchoring spot very carefully, in what for other boats would be the least desirable location near the entrance. He hoped this spot would be the most advantageous for getting us out later if he couldn’t fix our “little problem”. Good thing too, because the anchorage soon filled up with boats, all but one staying well away from us.

Last spring, before we left Baltimore, Rick had tried to think of every eventuality. We had read that having your boat serviced in most parts of the Bahamas is an expensive, slow and unreliable proposition at best, and that replacement parts are difficult to get. Rick had bought a whole slew of spare parts - just in case - and luckily, one of those parts was a new starter motor!  But before you go getting all excited, replacing the old one turns out to be much more complicated than Rick’s abilities will permit. We have an over-sized engine on Valkyrie, and the already small engine room is near impossible to work in. In order to gain access, other parts of the engine will probably need to be removed, and tools Rick doesn’t have will probably be needed.  A return to Nassau, tail between our legs, is now our only answer.

Allans Cay is one of the northernmost Exuma islands, and our little harbor is made up of a cluster of small islands that include Allans. These little islands are uninhabited, by people anyway, but are chock full of iguanas who have the run of the place. The Exuma Iguanas are a distinct species, thought to have been all over the Bahamas at the time of Columbus, but now endangered and found only on these few islands. I was very excited to visit these critters, having read about them in the cruising guide books. While waiting for the right wind to get back to Nassau – now more important than ever – we have a couple of days to relax and enjoy the iguanas.

There’s a lovely little beach just off our boat, with nary a lizard in sight, but once we arrive onshore with our dinghy, the welcoming committee starts to descend. By the time we’ve been there only a few minutes, we count seventeen iguanas on the beach. The big ones, the size of absurdly long-tailed dachshunds, seem quite aggressive, staking out their territories close to us, and chasing off any competitors. You’re not supposed to feed them, but the guide books warn that so many people do, they’ve now come to expect it. The books also warned that the creatures are not tame.  I had wanted to take a walk on this beach, but with all of those crazy reptiles nipping at my heels? Nothin’ doin’.

The next day we dinghied over to one of the other islands, and the iguanas there were very docile, even sweet. During our stay, we saw a number of tourist boats  coming in to that first beach, but not the other islands, and I suspect that those iguanas are being fed, and not exhibiting their natural behavior. I also learned that they are herbivores. Now I feel a bit silly for being so scared of them. But they do look like little dinosaurs, don’t they?

 

Love that neck wattle!

It is now very important to use as little electricity on the boat as possible. We have no solar panels or wind generators. We've got three big batteries, but we need to run the engine to fill them. No engine, no electricity. This is not just a problem involving our computers, iPads and cell phones. Electricity is what fuels our chart plotter, a device we desperately need to plot our course back to Nassau, and help us not to run aground once we are there. So no computer crosswords, no Seinfeld episode DVDs, no unnecessary lights at night, etc. Also, our refrigeration is engine driven. No ice in our G&Ts… No fun.

The way the weather works in the Bahamas, we could have easily been stuck here for a week or more, waiting for the right wind to sail back to Nassau, running out our batteries and spoiling all the food in our fridge. But, as luck would have it, the perfect conditions all lined up just two days after our landing at Allans. We got up at dawn to take advantage of the brief moment of slack tide. At any other time, the strong tidal currents would make it impossible to get the anchor up. Normally we would use the engine to run us up over the anchor to dislodge it, but this time we had to do it the old-fashioned way. Rick pulled on the chain, little by little and faster and faster, working up enough momentum to get the boat moving over the anchor, and then popping it out of the bottom and pulling it up. Then we immediately unfurled the headsail, and after a tricky little jibing maneuver, managed to catch the current and sail out of the little harbor. Whew! There were so many things that could have gone wrong, and Rick had been working over in his head what we would do if. Like, if we couldn’t get the anchor up, he was going to let the entire chain pay out and then leave it all behind. That’s how bad this situation was. But thankfully, Rick is a skilled captain, and we were able to get out of there with all of our gear and crew onboard. First hurdle of the day cleared.

On our way back to Nassau, an eight-hour trip, we went over our plan of action for landing in the harbor. When this happened to Rick four years ago in the States, he sailed in close to the harbor in Manesquan, NJ, and then called for a towboat to come and get him. He had towboat insurance, and still does, but it’s not usable in the Bahamas. Rick had called the owner of the little marina we had stayed at in Nassau before, and was advised to try and anchor on our own, because towing is so ungodly expensive here. This was definitely going to be a two-man operation, and it would go down fast, so I needed to understand all of the steps ahead of time. We were sailing with only the jib because getting the mainsail down quickly without an engine would just add to the difficulty. That meant we were not moving as fast as we might have, but that’s okay – the timing of our arrival should work out perfectly for the tidal current in Nassau harbor. If there are too many boats already in the anchorage, we might have to try and anchor farther out in the channel, which would not be ideal. Fingers crossed.

We also debated what we would do if we couldn’t find anyone locally with enough knowledge to fix the engine. Will we be stuck here? Would we have to abandon the boat? Rick had already decided that if we had to, we would first get a good night’s sleep, and then sail thirty-six hours or so, all the way back to Florida where we could call for a tow.

An upside-down flag is a distressed vessel signal (Rick actually did this earlier as a statement of political distress)

We pull in to Nassau Harbor at about four in the afternoon, and take a slow tour through the anchorage to scope it out. There are lots of boats, but Rick sees a few spots that would work for us. He chooses the one closest to the marina slips so that we can dinghy in easily. We take a deep breath, and then turn into the spot, still under sail, but before we get very far, we see Peter, the owner of the marina, waving us down at the end of his dock. “No, no, too close, don’t anchor here!” he seems to be yelling with his gestures. D’oh! He recognizes us, and quite reasonably doesn’t want an engineless boat too close to his docks. We have to make a quick jibe and turn back into the channel to regroup.

Good thing Rick had already scoped out another spot, this one at the far end of the anchorage. We take another breath or two, then turn in for our second attempt at anchoring. The idea is that Rick will roll up the headsail while I steer us right into the wind, which is pretty strong, and then once the sail is put away, Rick will quickly lower the anchor, all of this before we move too far forward and run aground (or into the embankment). Ready… Buh! – Just at the crucial moment, the jib sheet comes loose, and is flapping like crazy in the wind, along with the sail itself! Rick rushes forward to try and grab it, while I’m still at the wheel, helplessly watching while that line (rope) is whipping around at my husband. The sail is designed to catch enough wind to move our ten-ton boat, and all of that power is now unleashed. Rick looks like a horse whisperer up there, trying to calm an elephant-sized wild beast in order to grab the reigns. Jesus, don’t dislocate your shoulder again, I’m thinking to myself, or get one of your eyes whipped out!

Thankfully, Rick manages to get ahold of the sheet without injury, and runs it back to the block where he secures it. By now of course, we are in the wrong place for anchoring, so we have to turn around once more. I guess the third time’s the charm; everything slips into place, and we do a textbook-perfect anchoring job. Too bad our neighbors saw the other attempts though… Not so impressive. My heart is still pounding, but we did get here safely at least. Second hurdle down.

 

The starter motor is in there somewhere - three feet deep!

Our marina-owner friend Peter recommended a repair guy named Jason who was available that very afternoon, and willing to come out to the boat if we picked him up on shore in our dinghy. He didn’t need to remove much of the engine after all. Instead, he used a couple extensions on his socket wrench, making the handle longer. Unfortunately, even with his extensions, the handle still wasn’t long enough. He had to borrow a couple more from Rick, making the handle a full three feet long. That gave him access to the spot Rick couldn’t get to, but he still had to utilize Rick’s help on the other side of the engine to do the job. The whole thing took a little less than an hour, and the engine started right up, no problem. Thank you Jason! Ice cubes again!

So, total disaster averted. Unfortunately though, our time is up for exploring the Exumas. We just got that one little taste, with the iguanas. We have to start heading north if we want to be back in Baltimore by May. So, assuming no more problems arise, we are off to the Abacos tomorrow. Shh. Don’t jinx it.