The Wind Gods Give-ith and Take-it Away-ith

Open water crossings can be exhilarating sailing with blue skies, following seas, and wisps of sea spray gently caressing the boat. It's like a day up skiing with a foot of fresh powder. We always hope for these types of days for our passages. In our case we needed to sail 70 miles south from the Abacos across a chunk of the Atlantic Ocean to the north end of Eleuthera Island. To do this we needed a "good weather window."

Each morning at 6:30 am we worship at the altar of the wind god, Chris Parker of Marine Weather Center. Chris' voice crackles across the SSB radio with prognostications of highs, lows, troughs, ridges and all sorts of metrological stuff I still don't understand even though I've read six books on the subject. Bottom line is Chris said it would be "brisk sailing" today with 20 knots out of the east with 2 to 4 ft. waves. For a stout bluewater boat like Flying Cloud this sounded doable with the wind essentially coming from the side of boat (beam reach). It wouldn't be comfortable, but doable.

As we prepared to leave the anchorage the wind began howling as a squall line passed by with strong winds and pelting rain (remember, however, this is warm rain). Knowing that squalls are short lived, I proceeded to get soaking wet bringing the anchor up and getting underway (Meryl had the common sense to put on her offshore rain gear).

With each day's sail there are special problems that need to be overcome. In our case we had to transit from the protected waters behind the islands to the Atlantic Ocean (windward) side through a small pass called North Point Cut. We chose this pass since it was the better of the several passes we had to choose from, with a somewhat wide opening and not too many hidden rocks and reefs. The problem was the outgoing tide was running into the southeasterly wind and setting up what is locally known as a "rage." Think of a lot of water trying to get through a very small opening combined with lots of wind from the opposite direction trying to get through the same opening at the same time. The incoming wind hits the outgoing waves and amplifies their height, creating the dreaded "square waves" that sailors hate. A boat can ride up and down on ocean-type swells like a cork bobbing in the water. Square waves, however, are so tightly spaced that the boat raises up from one wave only to get smashed immediately from the next wave, and so on.

Back to the pass. It never looks that bad when you approach a pass; it's only when you're fully committed that the waves rear their ugly heads and nail you. In our case we ran into 6 to 8 ft. standing waves that were spaced very close together. The bow of the boat would rise toward the sky then come crashing down on the backside of the wave as the next wave buried the deck under tons of water, all of which came surfing down the decks back to where Meryl and I were huddled behind the protective dodger. It's like being inside a washing machine with all your stuff crashing around. To make things worse, we'd just reinstalled the foredeck dorado vent (and upside down L-shaped air vent that funnels air through a special "waterproof" fitting to below decks). We learned the hard way that the dorados on the foredeck need to be either removed or plugged with Nerf balls. Since we didn't anticipate these types of waves we hadn't do any of these things. More about that later.

Not a happy camper, but a great helmsman.

Once clear of the larger waves at the entrance we fell off (turned the boat more downwind) only to find that the predicted easterly was a full-on southerly blowing 22 to 28 knots. Again, our boat is very solid and able to handle these types of sea conditions; it was more about whether two 65+ year olds were up to the challenge.

I had to go down below to deal with a lot of unsecured items crashing around (again, we had anticipated beam winds which would have been much easier on the boat) and lots of water that had entered through the dorado vents. Forgetting my old rule about being down below very long in heavy weather, I started to feel queasy (again, hadn't thought we need seasick meds this day) and was soon hugging the companionway ladder with my head hanging over into the cockpit viewing a somewhat digested version of my breakfast. I wanted to die, but unfortunately was not given the option. The combination of the seasickness and the cold wet clothes had me shivering and curled up in a ball on the saloon seat. I've never been seasick in my life so this was a new and humbling experience. Poor Meryl, who had the common sense to put on her foul weather gear before we departed, had no choice but to hand steer (the autopilot had gone on strike) through heavy seas and 28 knot gusts for three hours while I tried to recover. I don't think I've ever been so proud of her hanging in during those very tough conditions, especially with me down below and not able to help.

Luckily I began to rally and while still very weak I was able to spell Meryl for a couple hours while she got some much needed rest. We basically just hung on and somewhat got used to the craziness ("wow, it's only 22 knots now, it seems so calm"). Again the issue is not so much the wind but the constant train of large waves hitting you head on every 10 seconds or so. It's like riding a bucking bronco for 10 hours.

There's no way we can cook in those conditions so we subsisted on animal crackers and water all day. Having lost most of my breakfast earlier I gained a new appreciation for animal crackers as a three-course meal.

With the boat totally trashed down below, with stuff strewn everywhere imaginable, we reconciled ourselves to just making our destination in one piece. We were about three-quarters of the way to our destination and had to make a decision about which way we would round Royal Island to gain entrance to the hidden harbor on the other side. Our choices were to sail through a very narrow pass called Egg Island Cut, or head further to starboard and round the outer reefs of the island, which would add about two hours to our passage time. It was now about 4:30 pm and we were fighting daylight to make our destination before dark. We made a command decision to go for it, hoping the southerly winds wouldn't be piling up huge waves in the pass like when we exited North Point Cut. To add some challenge to the task we also had to navigate between an unseen underwater rock about 20 ft. to our left and a mini island 20 ft. to our right. Luckily the conditions, while still very windy, were not too bad and we made it through the cut in one piece (breathe a sign of relief). The waves were much smaller on the windward side of Royal Island so we got a little break as we threaded our way though one last narrow opening into the harbor.

We never felt so relieved to get the anchor down and collapse on the settee seats. Walking over piles of debris inside the boat we voted to have a quick dinner of tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches before we literally fell into our bunk and went fast asleep.

I made a mental note to never leave protected waters again without the boat being fully prepared and us fully clothed in offshore weather gear. Also made a note to call Chris Parker about his prediction of easterly winds.