Tucked into the lee of Great Abaco, our anchorage was nearly still. Outside the protection of the anchorage, the weather was getting ugly. Today we weren’t able to cover much ground on our north bound journey across the Sea of Abaco before the weather prompted us to look for cover. We spent the last few hours precariously making way between storms - trying to outrun the system at our backdoor while staying just clear of another ahead. Black thunder cells were closing in around us, and soon we would be at the mercy of the wind and rain. A respite from the weather was a welcome thought, but alas, a double-edged sword knowing that it would come at the price of a very long haul tomorrow.
We spent the previous night bucking and tugging on anchor behind Spoil Cay (adjacent to Baker’s Bay). The small land mass of Spoil Cay was woefully inadequate in providing any protection from the thunderstorms approaching from the west, and to prove it, no one aboard LaLeLu slept. The rainy season that had only been a whisper of a far away possibility for the first two weeks of our trip was now chasing us down like a bad dream. It’s enlightening to watch the systems develop on a computer screen (courtesy of our satellite weather service). In the early afternoon during the summer months you can see them build over the land masses – with Florida serving as the biggest propagator of storms – and march their way westward over the stream to the Bahamas.
We pulled up anchor at day break this morning with every intention of making some distance north before the thunderstorms filled in. You know that you’re in for an eventful day on the water when it’s already cloudy and humid at dawn. Prior to our anchorage departure, we hailed a boat that had just come through the cut and requested a Whale report. He gave us the thumbs up, and we were on our way. As we headed back around the Whale passage, it marked the homeward leg of our journey. This morning the Whale proved to be surprisingly calm – so calm in fact, that one of our companion boats was able to transfer fuel during the passage. We felt relieved to have hit it in a lull between storms.
We spent the previous night bucking and tugging on anchor behind Spoil Cay (adjacent to Baker’s Bay). The small land mass of Spoil Cay was woefully inadequate in providing any protection from the thunderstorms approaching from the west, and to prove it, no one aboard LaLeLu slept. The rainy season that had only been a whisper of a far away possibility for the first two weeks of our trip was now chasing us down like a bad dream. It’s enlightening to watch the systems develop on a computer screen (courtesy of our satellite weather service). In the early afternoon during the summer months you can see them build over the land masses – with Florida serving as the biggest propagator of storms – and march their way westward over the stream to the Bahamas.
We pulled up anchor at day break this morning with every intention of making some distance north before the thunderstorms filled in. You know that you’re in for an eventful day on the water when it’s already cloudy and humid at dawn. Prior to our anchorage departure, we hailed a boat that had just come through the cut and requested a Whale report. He gave us the thumbs up, and we were on our way. As we headed back around the Whale passage, it marked the homeward leg of our journey. This morning the Whale proved to be surprisingly calm – so calm in fact, that one of our companion boats was able to transfer fuel during the passage. We felt relieved to have hit it in a lull between storms.
There would be a full moon tonight, a Wednesday, and how appropriate for marking the occasion of my 45th birthday. The plan all along, even before we left stateside, had been to rendezvous at the Green Turtle Club on this evening. For our entire trip I had been looking forward to dancing the night away to the Gulley Roosters and howling at the moon on my birthday. “Well, so much for plans,” I thought to myself as I stared across the Sea of Abaco to the shores of Green Turtle. The New Plymouth anchorage was eerily empty. An angry stretch of white-capped water stood between us and White Sound. There was no getting over there today in this weather, and even if we were able to make it, definitely there would be no leaving La Le Lu in the exposed anchorage. No, tonight we would stay here in our anchorage that was well protected from the west.
I resigned myself to spending my 45th in the captivity of the lee shore of Great Abaco, in front of the Ferry Dock (which we un-affectionately dubbed the Ferry Ghetto after a trip ashore). I foraged in the fridge in search of dinner fixins’ – hoping to find something edible that would not require a can-opener. The fridge was nearing empty at this point in the journey. Digging deep behind the freezer box I felt something promising and pulled it free. Score! Two New York strip steaks, still partially frozen. The fresh fruits and veggies were extremely limited and/or gross by this juncture. I was able to find a decent package of shredded cabbage, and, with a little rice-wine vinegar, extra virgin olive oil and some S/P, it would serve as a reasonable facsimile to a salad.
With the steaks sizzling on the rail-mounted Force 10 grill, we sat in the cockpit in quiet reflection, rum cocktail in hand. The storms around us were providing a spectacular show, with clouds that were periodically lit up by flashes of lightening in every direction. There was music playing in the background - something with an island / rake-n-scrape beat – that blended nicely with the rumbling bass of the nearby thunder.
Yesterday was a hard day and we were nearly running on empty as far as sleep. Our buddy-boat was anchored next to us, but they may as well have been 100 miles away as we each had our dingy raised and strapped to our respective decks. We chatted a bit with them on the VHF, and coordinated our plan for the next day’s leg of our exit journey. They were as tired as we – even over the crackling VHF I could recognize the fatigue in their voices, (which I am sure I echoed on my end of the conversation).
As the sun settled down into the horizon, it painted the clouds in ever intensifying shades of red until they looked like they were on fire. Dinner was heralded by the familiar metal-on-metal screech of the grill lid being opened. Although I doubted such was possible, the steaks tasted better then they smelled. We sat in the cockpit enjoying our meal with scarcely a word exchanged between us. We each were caught up in our own moment of introspection.
I remembered again what momentous day this was - my right of passage into the second half of my 4th decade on earth. Certainly, the day had not gone down as I wrote it in my mind’s script. I was exhausted, but at the same time I felt a sense of accomplishment that resonated into a feeling of inner contentment. It was a feeling that you can’t describe to someone who has not been there. At that moment I realized that there was no place I would rather be. I raised my glass to my husband’s and initiated a toast to my 45th. “So much for plans” I declared.
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