My friends Hodge and Dee had built Isla and had sailed her down from Canada. Onboard were Kerry Brock and Nancy who were guest crew like me. We were a patient lot, but after two weeks hanging around a little mudhole called No Name Harbor in Key Biscayne we were more than ready to roll. We had phoned a weatherman at Homestead Airforce base daily for more of the same light and fluky winds. He was a sailor as well and when he told us the norther was the only sure wind for the next week or so and that he said he would sail it if it was him, so we decided to go.

 

Islands in the stream, Hemmingway had called them, the Bahamas, sand and coral islands of romance and adventure. These tropical paradises were stopovers for Columbus and Ponce De Leon and probably the Greeks and Phoenicians before them. The palm trees were planted by Captain Bligh of Mutiny on the bounty fame and these shores were the haunts of pirates and the graveyards of galleons. The twentieth century brought more adventurers, fortunes were made in sponges, rum-running and dope smuggling and the crystal clear waters have always been great for fishing.

 The gulf stream itself is beautiful and dangerous, it is a river in an ocean colored an azure blue of such depth and quality that you may think it is dyed, that if you picked up a glassful it would still be blue.The islands are deceptively close across the narrow straits, Bimini is only fifty miles from Florida scarcely a days sail away, but any storm affects the gulf stream quickly and the winter winds are particularly treacherous, these spawn ‘Northers’ that  blow down from the arctic, cold winds that hit head-on with moving warm water that fetch up tall waves that are short between the troughs and easily broach and poop the sturdiest ship and try the ablest sailor.

 For all of us on boat it was our first voyage across the stream, we left in December in the middle of a norther and with a small craft warning posted.  We were not completely crazy, Isla was a sturdy ship and proven seaworthy, the only problem was the engine, it was fitted with an experimental hydraulic drive that overheated the engine sometimes and if the going was heavy it just didn’t push. So we wanted wind, lots of wind₁ we felt we were able enough sailors we just didn’t want to end up becalmed in the stream and drifting north to god knows where.

We only needed to top up our water and sail out but it was Friday. There is an old superstition about sailing on Fridays and we didn't want to be stacking the odds against us, so we waited until midnight and technically Saturday morning. It was on the tide anyway. The norther blew down in the late afternoon filling the sky with furious clouds. We watched anxiously for signs of real severity or of sudden waning, we left No Name harbor about eleven and cleared the main channel after twelve. First, we wound our way through the Stiltsville Channel (Stiltsville had been a prohibition creation it was technically a small village built on stilts and beyond the 3 mile limit by bootleggers. Now it was populated with a few luxury homes.

 We shot out into the ocean with a rush, A white and gray shape tossed in the slate-gray sea against an angry ebon sky. We were the ghostly galleon sailing on storm-tossed seas. The wind was force five on the Beaufort scale, it is called a fresh breeze about twenty-one knots throwing up ‘moderate’ waves of over 6 feet topped with white foamy crests. We didn’t reef we set the sails on a broad reach, hung on tight, and went like proverbial stink.

 If we had any apprehensions they were gone replaced with exhilaration, it was great ride a roller coaster straightened a bit for speed. Isla cut the waves perfectly found her rhythm and threw an impressive rooster tail behind. The wind with a spectacular flourish blew away the clouds and opened the curtain on the stars, southern stars as big as times square signs dancing in a chorus line across the vault of the sky. Then to dazzle even more we hit a meteor shower and hundreds of falling stars flew around us as we oohed and ahhed appreciatively at the celestial fireworks.

 It was grand braced against the breeze with the wheel pushing against your hand. Right between the sea and sky, at one with the universe and expectant of another surprise another adventure over that next wave, a definite winner in the most magnificent moments of your life contest.

 We saw lights, fellow sailors to the south for all were friends on such a night as this. A freighter steaming north to ports unknown? We watched his lights and -judged his speed and fell off some to sail below him. another light appeared, We laughed at our oceanic traffic jam, glad of the company to see the starry show. He was away to the south, a mile or more it seemed and with such a wind and lots of way on we hardened up the sails to pass between them, we had lots of time and took turns passing the glasses and trying to identify them by their light configuration   We disagreed among us and wisely consulted Chapman's Piloting, it was an ocean tug towing a barge with over a thousand feet of cable! Whew, we fell off again and passed below them.

Since it was our first sail together we had set no watches and. it was decided that I should get my head down in case a second trick was required. Reluctantly I went to bunk and eventually fell asleep. I wasn’t called and when I awakened at daylight the reason was evident the wind had died, simply blown away, They had tried the engine but to no avail against the heavy swells that remained. Isla shifted aimlessly rising and falling sending the booms flopping and carrying the sails like lifeless scarecrow rags.

It was still better than No Name harbor, we admired the gulf stream and watched f lying fish leapfrog the boat chased by a big fin. a shark? We tried to catch him but no avail and sat and fished and sat and smoked and sat and checked the charts nervously wondering how fast or far north we were drifting and how to adjust our dead reckoning as well. Sky was too fuzzy for a sun shot but if we just got some wind we had be close to Bimini.

In the early afternoon we felt a noise or something, we scanned the horizon with the glasses and then it was clearer, from noise to abuzz and three dots came towards out of the west. Cigarette boats? Long sleek speedboats are driven by eight powerful out­boards across the stern. They tore by us from horizon to horizon in less than ten minutes literally flying from wave top to wave top, the drivers strapped into huge padded seats, still hanging on to a runaway explosion. They didn’t wave. It was the Miami to Nassau cigarette race. We watched them go by, so fast in contrast to our plight at least it was a good indication that we hadn’t drifted too far off our course.

 We couldn’t be far away from Bimini, we sent Dee up the mast to have a look-see round and she told us it was there. Finally, a small breath of wind and then another and we got just enough to get us to the approaches to North Bimini harbor by about an hour before sunset. We didn’t want to sail in after dark or drift around out here for the night so we got out our Bahamas Guide and pored over it while we sailed in. ‘There are reports of the channel filling in with sand. Sure enough, we could see too much sandy bottom and we came about and circled around while we read further.

 The guide read ‘approach the entrance at a compass bearing of 96 degrees you will find a bent casuarina tree on the shore a couple of hundred yards from the beach if you line this tree up with the radio mast at the airport on South Bimini you will find the channel. Safely.’ What? The information worried us, the direction was almost southeast and we wanted to go north and what the hell was a casuarina tree. We could see only two kinds of trees and one was a palm so by deduction we found the bent other tree and found the channel. We hoisted-up our Bahamian courtesy flag and a yellow ‘quarantine flag and dropped our anchors off Alice Town about ten minutes after sunset.  

The next morning was Sunday and I looked into the clearest water I had ever seen. I grabbed my mask and fins and dove in to check it out. Whoops, 6 knots of current swept me away. Lucky for me we had ropes out. What the hell? How could anybody dive in this kind of water?

We then got a visit from customs and immigration and we wanted a 6-month permit so we didn’t want them to know we didn’t have any money. They charged us $12.50 overtime for arriving on a Sunday. We had 7 bucks between us. Hodge wrote a cheque on a Canadian Bank and we then rowed ashore so he could make a collect call and get someone to but some money in his account $600,000 dollar boat but no money.

While in town  I talked to a scuba diver about the current. He said I should dive at slack tide. Of course, I should have known that. So I looked at the tide table and at slack tide dove into the clearest water I had ever seen. Only in about a minute, it was going the other way at 6 knots and I had to be rescued. I persevered and actually learned to dive in strong currents and this stood me in good stead for the rest of the voyage. The trick is to angle off the flow and with fins, you can swim against the current and this was the toughest one I ever had to deal with.

 We soon discovered we were in Chalk’s Airlines take-off and landing zone as they roared around us with their PBYs. I loved their sort of cavalier attitude to flying but we soon got the message and moved out of the way.

 We then sailed down to Gun Key we were the the only boat anchored in Honeymoon Harbour which we renamed conch and Cuda harbor as it was filled with both of them but not of any size.

We awoke one morning to find a big old wooden American Cris craft beside us. Friendly Americans with a good supply of liquor. We decide a barbeque was in order and some of us went off to the concrete wreck to spear some fish.

We did rather well and  had a splendid supper and a night of drinking.

I awoke in some terror as there was water washing over me as my blanket floated away and I saw the stern of Isla fifty yards away. I thought fallen overboard and turned to swim only to get a mouthful of sand.

I got the explanation later we had all gotten so drunk that I had passed out on the beach. Hodge had tipped the dinghy over try to row a couple of Americans to their boat. So rather than hassle with me he just got me a blanket and left me there. Which was fine until the tide came in. I can still see me with the blanket floating away and the stern of Isla.

We soon set off for Nassau  starting with a night trip across the Grand Bahama Banks huge shallows with a mostly sandy bottom about 7 or 8 feet deep. Since we only drew 4ft 2 in. we thought we were pretty safe and the winds were light.  Then we got a white out. They say there is no fog in the Bahamas but a whiteout is really strange everything the water and the air seem to be a white mist. It is very eerie and mysterious and we could voices which seemed to be fishermen. We ghosted along through the night and got to Whale Cay in the southern Berry islands the next day.

Stormy trip to Nassau We were sailing by the seat of our pants just a compass and a portable radio with an antenna that moved around. This was long before GPS and the like. So we are dead reckoning our way and according to our position by the compass, we were in the middle of Andros Island. This was our first run into the Bermuda triangle aspect of the Bahamas. There are some spots where the compass goes screwy. The wind was rising and we discussed reefing the mainsail. (The rule is if you are thinking about it you should do it.) and as we did the sail ripped right down the reef line. So we had to reef down one more. There was one point in this run that I screamed a sentence of Fuck as a verb, noun, adverb, adjective, etc.

The weather cleared but we were stuck with a smaller sail so it was well into the evening before we reached Nassau harbor. It took a while to get our bearings being completely fooled by the traffic lights for a while. I see are I see a green what the hell is that yellow?

As we finally tied up at the sand dock just below the paradise island bridge I was singing Sloop John B and anxious to see the town. I was the only one everybody else was done in by the heavy sailing. But I was in great shape and anxious to see the nightlife so off I went. First of all to get to the street I. I had to walk about half a mile to find an open liquor store. I bought a quart of rum and a couple of beers and walked on.

Traffic was light and there was an empty traffic cop stand, at the side of the road (you have seen the Bahamas ads of them) So I sit down crack a beer and the bottle of rum look around and sip the booze. I can see the streets are busier further down and I am just finishing up the beer when a police jeep pulls up. “Hey mon what you think you doing?”

I had my rum in a bag and the beer in a proper beer bag. So I said having a beer. “You can't do that there mon” I apologize and they have a discussion and I am going oh oh. My only ID is a well-used Ontario driver’s license.

Then one of them asks “ hey mon are you off a boat?” When I said yes they said ok mon just don’t drink here ok and drove off.

So here it is a week or so before Xmas and it is funny being in a tropical paradise and seeing the Christmassy windows. I am just about to head back to the boat when suddenly I am facing my Good Friend John Marshall of the Globe and Mail who is on a couple of weeks vacation with his wife. He invites me up to his hotel room for a drink.

I say I have a drink how about a shower? He kidded me for years over that but we talked through the door while I showered. Nonsailing types don’t know what is like after sailing for some days without enough fresh water to shower. I had not had a real shower since Miami. We had a few drinks together and John was all excited about a shark diving excursion they were going on the next day, his wife not so much. He was also pleased to show me his original Grossman T-shirt that he used for a dive shirt. I walked back to the boat really tired now back through the graveyard and slept in the next day. Hodge had walked out and got a paper there had been a murder in the cemetery beside us. A Haitian immigrant had his head cut off.  Funny I don’t remember the police questioning us at all

We had no sooner settled in a bit when the news that we were to be hit by another ‘norther’. We really had no idea how the sailing men handled them here. Hodge told me to row over to a Bahamian fisherman who was anchored near us. As I approached I saw he was nailing himself into his cabin with 2x6s.

I rowed back and told Hodge “I don’t know but it is going to be bad.

We did find out the routine most of the sailboats would anchor in a line one after the other behind the lighthouse using it for a windbreak.