Having left the Haulover inlet in Miami around 10am we significantly underestimated the force of the Gulf Stream as it slowed us down to a mere 5.5 mph. To compound the timing issue, a few hours into the trip, the wind had picked up significantly and we were facing beam seas knocking us back and forth like a pendulum. Inching closer to our destination, Duane realized we would not be able to make safe passage into the harbor before dark, so we must anchor for the night off the beach and go inside the channel in the morning when we would be able to visually see the shifting sandbars and coral heads.
The mayhem that ensued the next twelve hours was borderline unbearable. Strapping himself into his life jacket and securing his head lamp, Duane left me at the helm in the pitch dark to drop two anchors and hopefully secure us for the night. I fought with the steering wheel to keep the boat in place as waves crashed over and over and Duane tried to steady himself. Once he was confident the anchors had set, we both sat on the couch and waited out the wrath. We were assaulted relentlessly the whole night as the boat pitched back and forth violently and bucked up and down. There seemed no end to the onslaught of wind and waves battering us and I just prayed morning would come soon and that our home would stay intact through this unimaginable beating.
Neither one of us slept a wink and most of the night passed with an uncomfortable silence as each excruciating sound of the boat being assaulted turned my stomach and made me cringe. Once the sun rose, it took a while for the waves to subside enough so we could pull the anchors and move into the safety of the harbor. We emerged from our confines to a beautiful sunny morning and grateful we were still afloat. Going out to hoist the anchors, Duane was astonished and dismayed that the force of the incessant waves tore the steel pall locking the wheel of the windlass clear off the anchor mount. He was now deeply concerned that once the anchor was raised we would not be able to drop it again.
Now having a visual aid to navigation, we were able to snake our way inside and tie up in a slip at Big Game Marina in Alicetown. Once the boat was in place, Duane went to clear customs and I cleaned the cabin which had been turned upside down the night before as I helplessly watched from the couch- the only thing that hadn’t been tossed around. Upon his return, he immediately noticed something was amiss. In addition to the anchor damage, the two trim tabs on the stern had been completely ripped off and were now just flapping back and forth against the hull of the boat. Not wanting the metal tabs to puncture a hole in the fiberglass, Duane grabbed some wire and attempted to strap them up. Here came problem number two…bull sharks! As he climbed onto the swim platform ready to wade into the water, a fisherman warned us of the sharks that inhabited the marina and, no sooner had he uttered those fateful words, we saw three sharks circling the boat. We had to come up with a better plan as not to lose life or limb. As a temporary fix, Duane decided to tie up the tabs with string as I held the boot hook to ward off any sharks that may pounce while his hands were in the water. More than one person warned him to watch his fingers, but thankfully, everything went off without a hitch and he still had all ten digits when the task was completed.
To add to my already frayed nerves, I now had to watch my step getting onto and off the dock for fear of what lurked beneath waiting for any misstep. A drink was definitely in order…
Once we paid the Harbormaster and requested a map of the area, we took off on foot toward Baileytown. Our first stop was the BTC store to purchase a sim card and international data plan and the second stop was at Joe’s Conch shack for some ice cold Kalik and fresh conch salad. Both hit the spot and we finally started to decompress.
Bimini was definitely not what we expected. It was more rundown and desolate than any accounts we had read about. Locals pointed at Hurricane Matthew, which passed through the area a few years go, as the culprit for the lagging economy, abandoned buildings and basic poverty of the people. The powers that be assured the residents that the newly opened high-end Hilton Resorts World Bimini Marina would breathe life back into the economy. In contrast, the locals we spoke with feared it would have the opposite results and basically suffocate them.
The weather the next week was not shaping up to be pleasant at all so we made plans to stick around for the time being. Floating around in the pool at the marina, the night before became a distant memory and I was finally relaxing. Leisurely walking the area later that afternoon, at the direction of one of the fisherman, we happened upon Nate’s and purchased some famous Bimini bread. As dusk approached, we made our way to the island beach shack, CJ’s, for shrimp and conch burgers. Scoring a seat on the patio with a lovely couple visiting from the States, they offered to take us on their golf cart for a quick tour of the island. Being only 7 miles long we made it from the cemetery on one end to the land development beyond the Hilton marina in no time.
In the morning we decided to unstrap the bikes from the bow and ride along King’s Highway to Paradise Island to gather some sea glass which was supposed to be abundant in the area. The bikes were very temperamental after being battered with salt water for weeks and I basically had no brakes as we traveled along the windy narrow roads. Grossly misinformed in regard to the sea glass, we headed back to the boat hot and sweaty with only five small pieces in our pocket. But, as a pleasant surprise, we had gathered a few conch shells to add to the decor of the cabin. In the afternoon, we decided to be adventurous and we took the boat to Honeymoon Harbor off Gun Cay to anchor for the night. Exploring the area on Baby Belle, stingrays fluttered through the waters in abundance occasionally making it close enough to the surface so we could touch them. It was a magnificent sight and we settled in for the evening listening to the waves lightly slap the hull ….well until 3am when a thunderstorm tore through the area lighting the boat up like a Christmas tree. We both feared we will never get a good night’s sleep again.
By morning the storm had passed and we pulled anchor and moved 5 miles south to Cat Cay. Since the pall was broken on the beloved windlass, we had to use a stick to release the chain and decided to drop two anchors as piece of mind in these unfamiliar waters. While attempting to re-anchor, the line tied to the dinghy so we could tow her along wrapped around the prop. There was no getting around what needed to be done, so Duane jumped in the water to cut the line free as I scanned the area for sharks. Not seeing anything that would prove detrimental to his health, he now had the opportunity to wire up the trim tabs. Not wanting to press his luck, he made a quick job of it and got back on the boat and grabbed the fishing pole. He was unsuccessful the previous night, but today he snagged his first catch and let me reel it in.
What marked our 100th travel day had us back in Alicetown tied up in Browns Marina as the winds the next few days were going to be substantial with gusts into the 30s. Before the weather turned, we took a walk to the Dolphin House Museum designed and constructed by a fifth generation local, Ashley Saunders, dubbed “Poetry in Stone” by many. The elaborate mosaic was a collaboration of construction scraps, recyclables and anything that would otherwise clutter the earth pieced together as a tribute to the Dolphin. Ashley was a character for sure.
That evening we added a few extra lines to secure the boat and, making sure I had a firm grip on the piling before I disembarked, we walked the dock up to Big John’s for dinner eyeing the sharks circling under the planks every step of the way. The restaurant definitely worked on island time which was a concept I have been slow getting used to. It wasn’t the best meal, but we hadn’t been out for awhile or seen a TV in over a week, so we pleasantly enjoyed the next few hours absorbing everything.
The weather turned for the worse the next morning so we decided to get some projects done on the boat. Duane turned the salon into his sewing room so I took to the upstairs and set up the laundromat on the flybridge. We checked in on each other every now and then and stopped to have lunch together. The weather cleared up enough later in the day that we were able to take a walk to the shipwreck on the bluff and caught up with fellow boaters at the Tiki Bar upon our return. The following day was Super Bowl Sunday and they were organizing a pot luck gathering to begin at kick-off.
Before the Super Bowl gathering was to commence, we spent the day biking the island. We went to the Resort World Marina at the north end of the island to walk the grounds and play some slots in the casino. The marina serviced millionaire clientele and, by the looks of the docks, Bella Donna would be grossly out of place. On the ride back we parked outside Stuart’s Conch Shack and strolled up to the deck to order some fresh conch salad. We of course had to find out for ourselves which shack served the best conch as both boasted they were number one on the island. After our meal, our vote was with Stuart. The last stop on our tour that day was at the End of the World Bar. Etching our names on the wall, as was required as a right of passage, we sat down for a beer with the locals.
The pot luck gathering was a great time and by halftime it was decided by the Captains that the weather was going to be calm enough the next two days to make the journey across the Bank. Being the only power boat, we were departing on a different course than the rest since the sailboats had a deeper keel and were unable to traverse some areas along the Bank without running aground. The trip across the Bank was almost one hundred miles regardless of whether we choose to head to the Berry Islands or Andros Island so a night anchored alone in the middle of nowhere with no land in sight was something we had to prepare ourselves for. I said a prayer that night that the waters treated us well moving forward. Or at least better than that first dreadful night in the country one long week ago.
