Day 107

Pete and I rowed over to the "E-Z" again this morning to catch the 6:30 weather report. The ocean beyond the little barrier reef that protected our anchorage was dead calm. From the radio we learned that it would remain so. Winds for the coming week were expected to be light, variable, and out of the west.

The last time we'd experienced winds like this was leaving Florida nearly a month before. Two days later, the easterly Trade Winds that prevail in these latitudes had kicked up again, ground our progress to a halt and forced us to divert south to Andros Island. Now that we were making our round-about way back to the states, we'd counted on those east winds to fling us along effortlessly. Apparently, fair winds and calm seas is asking a bit much. After our last few days of sailing, I'm happy with just the calm seas.

With the weather broadcast finished, we helped Lance take in his secondary anchor, made our goodbyes and paddled off to our Strolla to make ready. Three nights and two days of swinging around with the tides and our anchor chain was a tangled web in the rocks. We could see it clearly through the blue-green water, zigzagging back and forth crazily beneath the boat. With a sigh, I took up position on the foredeck. Pete hopped back to the tiller and, with a touch of forward throttle, began to weave the boat around the anchorage as I shouted directions and pulled in the slack chain. Despite our best efforts, we couldn't fully untangle ourselves until after Pete had snapped on his fins and mask and dropped overboard for a little underwater work. Anchors up and we slipped through the harbor entrance a few minutes ahead of Lance's trimaran.





The light west winds were good enough for a casual cruise south to the cape. We were trolling a fishing lure absentmindedly, the pole wedged against our propane tank. This was not the first time we'd tossed a lure out. There had been a few minor misadventures previously that had now left us low on lures and line. I won't recount the details of those events here. Its too painful but, suffice it to say that our inability to catch fish was not the fault of the fish.





Today's fishing episode began like all the others, with the rattle of the fishing pole and the whir of line running off the reel. I let out a yelp to Pete, released the tiller, and lunged for the pole, reaching it just before the line ran out. As I struggled to reel in the monster, Pete struggled to get the boat back on course and the sails reset. When all as back in order, I proudly hoisted my prize onto the deck. Neither of us knew what it was but it was a fish, the largest I'd ever caught, and we were going to eat it. Pete filleted it. I baked it in olive oil with salt and pepper and a side or canned beans and brown rice. It was the perfect size for a meal for two and we were both stuffed.


After sunset the wind died down and we began motoring. The next safe port was Duncan Town in the Ragged Islands. With the light winds we'd had all day, we wouldn't arrive until after midnight. Rather than risk the shallow approach channel in the dark, we decided to press on for Cuba through the dark. Although the wind picked up again after dusk, it remained light and unreliable and we were forced to motor intermittently all night.

By two in the morning we were passing Duncan Town, fifteen miles to the west, a faint yellow glow on the blacked out horizon. That was the only thing we saw all night. The star gazing was incredible.