This post is part 5 of 8. If you have missed some, you may want to scroll down and read them first.
The morning dawned gloomy. We were in a position approximately southeast of Port Lucaya. All around were big, dark cumulonimbus clouds. I was making breakfast when Larry called me up into the cockpit. To the northwest we saw a huge wall of clouds, and the winds were beginning to pick up. We could see lightning and hear thunder. It looked ominous. We were about to learn what Chris Parker meant by his term “nasty.”
We had reduced sail at sunset the previous evening. We were running with one reef in the main and only the staysail forward. We could not see any real reason to change this configuration. We had been through a lot of fronts during our three-plus months in the Bahamas. We took them all at anchor or on a mooring. This would be the first one we had met at sea. We turned into the wind, hove to and hung on.
The last time we had hove to, we were enrolled in the Annapolis Sailing School. We took three days of Basic Keelboat and a week of Bareboat Cruising at the Marathon location in 1996. I don’t suppose that location is even open any longer. In fact, maybe the Annapolis Sailing School isn’t open any longer. Anyway, during the Basic Keelboat class, we learned to heave to. Our instructor told us that it is a good way to ride out big winds or get some rest in a storm. In the Northwest Providence Channel, we learned that he knew what he was talking about.
The winds hit us hard, as they always do at the beginning of a frontal passage. I usually feel that if I can manage the first assault, the rest of the ride is downhill. In this case, that ride was many hours, but having hove to at the beginning, we were ready for it. In fact, we were able to catch up on sleep by turns.
Our boat does not actually heave to very well. Maybe in the future we will devise some scheme to make it work better. Even though it heaves to at the beginning, the nature of the mechanisms that control the mainsail – the traveler and its downhaul – are too elastic to hold the hove to state forever. Eventually the wind catches the staysail and instead of hove to, we are close-hauled. However, with the main reefed and the staysail close-hauled, we make very little headway.
One of the beautiful experiences during this passage was my growing confidence in our boat. We knew when we purchased it that it had been designed for bluewater cruising. We have done some bluewater cruising. However, this was our first time to be in a storm with no engine, entirely dependent on sail, rigging and hull to keep us safe. Well, not entirely dependent on them, because throughout this whole experience we knew that God was present with us. We prayed together every day. When Larry had to do something dramatic on deck at night or in heavy seas, I prayed. As we cruised around in circles in the Northwest Providence Channel battered by storm winds, I prayed.
Some people think that miracles are the sort of things where a blind man suddenly sees or five thousand people are fed with only a bit of bread and fish. I think miracles happen when two people and a boat stretch themselves as far as they can go and God fills in the gaps. That is what happened to us.
That entire day is a blur of wind and wave. Yet never did we feel desperate. In fact, I think we felt no more at risk than we ever felt on a mooring in Warderick Wells. We stood our watches, we took naps, we ate three normal meals.
Sometimes it rained, rather fiercely at times. As we were eating lunch, we noticed a bedraggled bird hopping around on the aft deck looking for shelter. The poor thing appeared to be waterlogged. His feathers were in total disarray. He looked longingly through the closed windows into the cockpit, but we did not invite him in. We learned our lesson about hospitality to birds at Warderick Wells. He hopped up the line for the boom’s downhaul, apparently hoping to find some way past us, but no luck. The last time we saw him, he was huddling beneath the sparse shelter of a dorade.
When night fell, the wind continued. We saw few other boats, as you might expect. We saw a huge cruise ship headed into the wind, just as we were, and we recalled our pastor’s experience in a storm on a cruise to Bermuda. We chuckled, commenting that he could be glad he wasn’t on our neighbor ship (or certainly not ours!) at this particular time. Cruise ships may be immune to some of the motion, but not all. They are afloat just as we are.
It was a furious night. Yet despite the fury, it was beautiful. God makes the most magnificent waves! As the sun came up, we were able to see more clearly. The ocean is staggeringly beautiful when it roars.
As the sun climbed higher, the wind began to die. By noon, it was almost calm. We gave thanks and began to pick up the mess around the boat. We caught up on our sleep. We had a very relaxed day, and we even allowed ourselves a glass of wine with dinner. We knew not to relax too much. We didn’t even change our sails. Another front was due within 24 hours behind the first.
Just after sunset it arrived, striking us furiously to get our attention. Even though the winds were not any worse than the previous front, it seemed that the water was more turbulent. I had slept just fine during my sleep hours before, but this time I simply could not rest. It was a bumpy ride. I went up to the cockpit and stayed there until almost dawn. Larry went down to sleep at his appointed time, and I remained on watch.
By mid-morning of Wednesday, April 28, the second front was gone. The stormy weather was done. The forecasts all said that the next five days would be clear. Wednesday would be light and variable winds, Thursday would be east 5 knots building to 10, and Friday would be east at 10 knots. It was time to get ourselves poised to make the crossing whenever the winds allowed.
This year was a furious year for cold fronts. Many people spoke disparagingly of the Bahamas weather this winter. Having never been there before, I don’t know how to make a comparison. I will only say that it was quite interesting. I actually did not feel any more threatened out in the open water than I felt at a mooring or at anchor. The real problem with all these fronts is that they confine us wherever we are at the time they hit. We can’t navigate the cuts or roam around in the dinghy ogling the sights. We don’t want to snorkel in 25-knot winds. So many fronts so close together changed the character of our experience. Nevertheless, we did not have to shovel 60 inches of cold front out of the way afterward, and we still didn’t have to wear shoes. I don’t need any more cold fronts for a while, but I don’t think I would let them stop me from enjoying the Bahamas.
Write a comment