Journey Into Blue, part 1

Journey Into Blue
The paper chart was laid out on the table. Most of it was blue. At first I thought that meant we could hardly go anywhere on it. Then I realized it was just the opposite. We could go anywhere that was blue, because the blue was the sea and the sea was our blank canvas.


I looked at the chart, all that water and the scattered rocks sprinkled across it, with names like San Salvador and Great Inagua, Cat Island and Conception Island. It was a romantic tropical land waiting for our discovery, islands to explore and colorful characters to meet and tomorrow, our new boat Blue would take us there.



We were leaving from Port Everglades, Florida, on the United States Atlantic Coast. Along Florida’s coastline, flows the most powerful jet-stream of water in all the world, constantly thrusting northward at an alarming rate of over three knots an hour. To set out on our journey, it would be necessary to cross this overpowering current of liquid known as the Gulf Stream. And that is where our adventure begins.



We bought Blue, a 42-foot live-aboard yacht, so we could cruise the Bahamas. Each day would be a new anchorage and every night filled with stars and sounds of the sea. Along with Blue, we had bought Too Blue, her 11-foot dinghy to explore waters too shallow for the big boat, and to shuttle us back and forth to land. It was hard to believe but we were the proud owners of not one, but two boats.







We had moved to the Bahamas in January 2004, and had fallen in love with the quiet island nation, its turquoise water and its slow pace. We would sit on the wooden deck of our rental house, and watch the boats speed past, here was a civilization based around the sea. We realized the only way to truly experience this beautiful archipelago would be by boat. And we were on board.



We flew to Florida several times, found Blue and bought her. (The story is a bit more complex than that and actually involves exploded engines and months of waiting, but I’ll tell you all about that later.) For now, it was time to go back to the Bahamas and we were excited to get underway.



After surveying the chart, Grant and I chose a course which would take us out into the Atlantic Ocean, across the Gulf Stream and straight to West End, Bahamas. The journey would be about 70 miles and we calculated that if we left in the mid-morning, we would make first landfall just before sunset, in plenty of time to be anchored by dark. And the meteorology Gods were providing an ideal weather window for our crossing – flat seas and east wind. Our hired instructor, Captain Mark would be joining us on the journey and we were glad to have a knowledgeable and patient coach to help us along. After all, we had only really been boating twice…



Just before bed that night, we talked about the Grenadines again. Years ago, Grant and I had spent one week chartering a boat and sailing around those islands. We had spent the years ever since talking about it constantly and dreaming of the day we would return to the sea. And Now, our dream was coming true. We were leaving tomorrow morning.



I would have been totally excited except for how nervous I was about crossing the Gulf Stream. We had heard so many horror stories of the perilous crossing, of huge square waves called “white elephants,” that appeared on the horizon, of high seas kicked up by the stream’s forceful determination to head North despite the wind. And now tomorrow, we would be crossing the Gulf Stream. I imagined an overturned Blue and all of us scattered in a tumultuous sea, being swept in a mighty current while lightening stuck at us from every direction. I have an active imagination. Needless to say, it was a very long time before I fell asleep.




Bon voyage

Up at first light. The scent of Chai spiced tea filled the cabin, mixing with the excitement in the air. By 10:00, Captain Mark had arrived and it was time to set off – our maiden voyage. Literally. We had never been on Blue while she was moving and in fact, had hardly been boating at all. There was the time in the Grenadines (5 nights on a 40-foot sailboat), a couple of days renting 20-foot runabouts in the Sea of Abaco and a week long course on a 35-foot trawler, which was ultimately designed to teach us everything we needed to know about handling, maintaining and living aboard Blue. We were far from ready. But this upcoming week with Mark we would learn everything - and it all started right now, with a trip to the fuel dock. First we had to untie the dock lines so we could get moving…Dock lines? Help!!!!!



(With a little instruction), Grant and I untied the dock lines while Mark piloted Blue out of her slip. By the time we had secured all of the lines, the trip was over, we had arrived. Although it was a very short trip, just a few hundred yards to the fuel dock, it was our first and it was awesome. Chai tea for everyone!



The $800 bill for diesel seemed like a lot, and then I remembered that in just a few days we would be needing more fuel and $2.84/gallon would be a dream price. Rumor had it that diesel was up to $4.00/gallon in the islands. Suddenly, $800 didn’t look so bad.



Once Blue was all filled up with fuel, we set off down the Dania Canal, heading towards the open sea. It was incredibly hot with light winds and there were hardly any clouds in the smog filled sky. Goodbye Ft. Lauderdale! Hello new world…









But first, the crossing. We had calculated our course to West End, Grand Bahama at a bearing of 64°. Up at Blue’s helm, we had a large Danforth compass. The heading on the compass was reading exactly 64°. We should have been headed straight for West End. However, for some reason, we were heading North. We were being uncontrollably dragged away from the Bahamas, we were being swept to Bermuda! It was the dreaded Gulf Stream and it was carrying us way off course. I stood up and shouted, “At this rate, we’ll never reach West End, we’re gonna end up in Greenland!” But Captain Mark calmly reminded us of his two-step program to handle every situation on a boat. 1-Identify, 2-Control. I sat down.


Using the calculations Mark had taught us, Grant and I figured out that the Stream was flowing at just over 3 knots per hour and all we would have to do was adjust our course accordingly to compensate for the surge. We reset our course to head almost due east and we let the Gulf Stream carry us northward, directly to West End. Hey, if you can’t fight it, join it.


Once we were set on proper course, I had a chance to look around. I could no longer see Ft. Lauderdale past our wake, in fact, I couldn’t see North America at all. With no land in front of us and none behind, I felt the vastness of the open ocean. We were but a tiny white toy floating on a massive planet. The possibilities were endless.


The water in the Gulf Stream is the deepest blue, kind of an ultramarine, but more a color I’ve never seen before, one with no name. The brilliant blue color goes down forever. At well over 2000 feet, our depthsounder went blank, the distance too great to measure. The open sky was above with high white clouds and the deep sea was below with flat calm waves and reflections of the sky.



The Bluest Water, watercolor on paper, 7-3-05, Grant Pecoff


It was blue from above and blue from below. Blue everywhere. Blue.

Except where it was green. That is, a tiny green tree frog, no bigger than my pinkynail had stowed away for the crossing. Hello froggy.




It was hours in the ocean with no sight of land and I was enjoying the boatride. As we prepared to exit the Gulf Stream, (more like a Joke Stream) we checked all systems and reset our course, heading straight for the Bahamas. We would be entering the Bahamas at the Little Bahama Bank and using our GPS-chartplotter, we entered the data for our first arrival point, or waypoint. The first waypoint was a piling marking the Goodwill Channel, a narrow channel providing just enough depth for boats to pass through. It would be essential to be perfectly on course when approaching the Little Bahama Bank, right in the Goodwill Channel, because the depth shifts from 100 feet to 2 feet very quickly and Blue needs 4 feet of water under her. At all times. All around the Goodwill Channel, the sand and coral are so shallow that any vessel is sure to run aground. Although there was still no sight of land, the ocean had changed from that glowing electric blue to a deep turquoise and I knew we were getting closer. We slowed down a little and set up one of our trolling rods, hoping to catch some dinner while we cruised. I took the chance to go belowdecks and get a “Max report.”


Max, our 17 year-old deepsoulcat was living with us on board Blue. He went everywhere we did. He had traveled across continents with me since my freshman year at Emory and had earned more frequent flier miles than most people. When I found him belowdecks in the main cabin, he was sprawled out over the engine room, his black fur stretched out across the floor, tummy exposed. He made a great contrast against the thick oatmeal carpet. When I touched his side, I could feel him purring in harmony with the 330 horsepower engines as if he thought they were giant mama cats. One major purrfest.



Land ho!

Upstairs at the helm, the guys had sighted land. Grant called out, “Land Ho!” Grand Bahama Island was within sight.


I ran upstairs to join them and found Grant on the bow with the binoculars and Mark at the helm, piloting very slowly. Everyone was quiet. It seems we were having a challenge navigating the shallow waters marking the edge of the Bank. The piling marking the Goodwill Channel was nowhere to be found. With deep ocean water behind us and only coral and shifting sand bars ahead, we had no choice but to slow down and locate the narrow channel promising safe passage.


I leaned over the bowrail, looking at the sand below us. The water turned from aqua to pale jade and then tan. I could see grass. And fish. Thump.


We were definitely in the Bahamas and we were definitely aground.


It was very hot and very quiet. No one dared speak. We had been in the Bahamas a total of 20 feet and we were already aground. I had heard that it’s not “if you go aground,” rather “when,” but this was incredible. Grant called out that he could see our fishing hook behind the boat, caught on a piling – Hello Goodwill Channel.


I know we were aground and it was disastrous and all, but the only thing I could think was, “Yeah, now I get to jump in.” I quickly pulled on my swimsuit and grabbed mine and Grant’s masks. I also got his Leatherman to cut the fishing line. I came out of the cabin, sweaty and ready for the challenge to find that the hook had released itself and Grant was already reeling it in. And that a little swell of wave had come in and pushed us off the shoal. No jumping in. Well, on the bright side, we were no longer aground. And we were in the Bahamas.



(piling marking the Goodwill Channel – note the open ocean all around)


We continued over the shallow shoal very slowly, with Captain Mark explaining about VPR – Visual Piloting Rules. On most days in the Bahamas, you can see the bottom and it is possible to recognize coral, rocks, or sand bars from a distance. It is essential to use VPR and not rely solely on charts and instruments, which might not account for shifting sand or underwater changes from recent storms. So, for the remainder of the day, we watched the bottom as much as we watched the horizon.


The Bahamas was named by the Spaniards who dubbed the land “Baha Mar,” or shallow sea and it is precisely this characteristic that makes boating here so fun. The water is never very deep and there’s plenty of great snorkeling and diving with gin-clear water so you can see the fish from up on the boat. Welcome to Paradise!


Light the night

We anchored for our first night in the protected cove of Great Sale Cay. As soon as the anchor was set, we dove right in. Ah, the first swim. The water was cool and deep and green. Pinch me. We raised up our yellow “Q” flag to let any customs authorities know that we were quarantined and had not cleared into the country yet.


Just before bed, the three of us went out on the swim platform to see if there was any bioluminescence – the tiny organisms that live at the surface of the sea and light up electric when they are stirred. Well, there was plenty of bioluminescence, but there was no dinghy. That’s right – Too Blue, our 11 foot center console dinghy was gone!


The night was dark and the wind was blowing. Too Blue was nowhere to be seen. As we were scanning the horizon, our “trusty” million candle watt flashlight died. Although there were millions of stars and the cloudy glow of the milky way, we would have to wait for sunup to search for the little boat.


Just before I went inside, for a long restless night, dreaming of boats adrift on the sea, I splashed my fingers in the bioluminescence, scooping up the tiny electric beings, cupping their light in my hands.


search and rescue

We woke at first light, before sunrise. Captain Mark was already up on the flybridge, scanning the cove with binoculars, looking for our lost dinghy. He wasn’t finding her.


We started up the engines and softly motored to the back of the cove, fingers crossed and breath held. Too Blue was nowhere to be seen. I was really bummed because we bought Blue (in large part) because of her dinghy which was a center console dinghy, a real boat, not just a rubber tube with an engine like so many others . When we were boat shopping, we joked that we were “dazzled by the dinghy.” As well, there is absolutely no way to cruise and live aboard without a dinghy. And ours was really great, the BMW convertible of dinghies. Without the dinghy, we couldn’t even go into the shallows to search for the dinghy. It was the worst.


Completely discouraged – what else can go wrong? – we headed back to the center of the anchorage, where a very old trawler named “Warp Speed” was resting, looking like she needed it. Warp Speed’s captain was on deck, drinking his coffee and once he heard about our situation, he offered to take Grant around the backside of the cove to search. Captain Karl fired up “Vulcan,” his circa 1975 steel dinghy and Grant climbed on board, off to search for our missing boat.


The Vulcan made its way around the cove, poking into the mangrove-lined inlets that ringed the Northern edge. Suddenly it made a beeline straight into an inlet – they found Too Blue! Mark and I watched through the binoculars as Grant waded through the water towards our dinghy. He secured the painter, the bowline that leads off the dinghy, and Karl and Vulcan towed Too Blue off the coral rocks. Once they were free, Karl sped off to his cooling coffee and Grant returned triumphant, leaving a wake from the dinghy behind.


It turned out our bowline was too new, too slippery and Captain Mark’s knot slipped untied in the night. Relieved and grateful, we ate a quick breakfast and left the anchorage. We called Mark “Cap’n Slipknot” all the way to Green Turtle Cay.


Fins and Nicks

We took turns driving the boat and navigating our course. During my shift, Grant and Captain Mark went belowdecks to start up our watermaker. We had installed a new watermaker on Blue which drew in saltwater and desalinized it, through a reverse osmosis process, creating clean clear drinking water right from the sea. Our tanks held 90 gallons of water and we could fill them in approximately 3 hours. It was taking that long for them to figure it out.


I cruised along, constantly looking at my bearings, my instruments and at the sea around me for obstructions of any kind. I had my Ipod at the helm, hooked into the stereo system and I put on Fleetwood Mac Rumors and settled in. I was all alone – no boats around me, no people, no towns. All was very still. And then I thought I saw something off the starboard – and I saw it again. The unmistakable fin of a bottlenose dolphin, breaching to play alongside Blue. She swam with me and Stevie Nicks for a good long while, at 26°North, 77°West.


Running on empty

Green Turtle Cay appeared in the distance just as the guys returned to the helm. The watermaker was up and operational and they brought me the first glass of sweet sparkling water – it was better than bottled. We navigated toward the Green Turtle Club Marina, at the end of a long mangrove lined creek, with the sun at our backs, ready to refuel and clear customs. As we were motoring through the channel, approaching the marina, the port engine alarm sounded, sputtered and then cut off. The fuel gauge was down past E. We were 100 yards from fuel and we were dry. How could this be?


We putted into the Green Turtle Club Marina on our one starboard engine. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, go immediately to the fuel dock. Blue was very thirsty – she holds a total of 300 gallons – she took on 294. And the bill was $967.00. Wow.


Captain Mark explained that because the port engine had run out of fuel, air had gotten in the line and it would have to be bled. He explained this could be a tricky and possibly lengthy process so we had better anchor close to the marina. We chose a sandy place just off the island, close to the small town of New Plymouth.


New Plymouth is a sleepy coastal town with a dozen or so faded pastel clapboard buildings. As the sun set on American Independence Day, there was a small ex-patriot party on the beach with a bonfire. Music from the celebration drifted out to our boat and we swam in the evening light while Bob Marley sang. A reggae sunset swim.


After dinner there was a July 4th fireworks display. It was in typical Bahamian fashion; 2 pops at a time followed by a long wait while someone on the beach set up the next round. Which was 2 pops at a time. Over and over, in the identical spot in the sky. Two pops. And a wait. 2 pops. And a wait. Until the huge finale, 3 pops.


Way off in the distance, we saw tiny red bursts over Great Guana Cay. And a million stars overhead – a firework filled sky.


Its customary

First thing in the morning, we headed into New Plymouth to clear customs, leaving the portside fuel line until later. Captain Mark went into the government office with the paperwork while we walked around the little town. He found us at the hardware store, looking for supplies. He handed me Blue’s 12-month cruising permit and our fishing license. We were officially in the Bahamas. Hooray!


Mark took us to the Loyalist Sculpture Garden, a small courtyard filled with bronze busts of the proud British who remained devoted to King George III during the American Revolution. It was so hot at the gardens that as I read the plaque below each statue, I stood real close so I could be in its shade. Grant was really impressed with the exhibit of sculptures, a display one would expect to see in a large city like Paris, rather than on sleepy Green Turtle. I was too hot to be impressed by anything.







Back at the boat, we bled the fuel line. Actually it wasn’t that simple, but for the sake of the story, let’s say it was. It’s much more interesting to write about the trip over to Guana Cay where we passed Center of the World Rock and saw eagle rays off the bow. Local folklore suggests the Center of the World Rock is actually at the center of the world. However, this is from the same people who think baking powder is a recent invention and never heard of fleece.




(Center of the World Rock)





We anchored for the night in Baker’s Bay, at the Northern end of Great Guana Cay. Just before sunset, two enormous yachts pulled into the anchorage. As the sky darkened, they turned on all their lights, looking like twin cities anchored in the bay. Grant said they looked like Imperial Destroyers from Star Wars. Just as we were falling asleep, he hummed the theme from the movie, cracking me up again and again.






Dock this


Ready for docking? Probably the most feared job on the whole boat is docking it. It really is a massive machine and the slips at the marina seem so small. Also, there are always plenty of boat owners hanging around on the docks to know if you hit something, especially their yacht. And to make matters worse, if you smash into anything, you’ve also smashed Blue. But at some point, you have to dock.



We delayed the docking just a little longer while we sat at the table and ate peanut butter and apples and discussed the theory of docking. Why we should use certain lines in the varying circumstances and how the boat acts in different wind and current conditions. All the talk was getting me more confused and eventually, it was time to just get out there and dock!



We chose a long deserted dock at the main harbour at Guana. Grant went first. He did great, quickly remembering all of our docking lessons from last spring. He pulled in and out of the slip without even bumping the boat, even showing his skill by pulling in backwards.



Then it was my turn.



I was really nervous and the slip looked so much smaller now that I was up. Captain Mark had spent years coaching girls’ gymnastics and had learned that calm encouragement works a lot better than yelling at a student. So we took it really slow and first he had me just pull alongside the dock, like how it would be for fueling. That wasn’t so bad, and after I did it a couple of times, I began to remember how to use the two engines to “spin” the boat around and that I actually had pretty good control of it.



Then it was time to try the slip. Just in time for my performance, a Moorings catamaran pulled in for the night. Her crew settled themselves on her bow, cocktails in hand, to watch the show.


The first time wasn’t so bad and neither was the second, but then I had to go in backwards and that wasn’t so good. It was really hard to see the pilings behind me and alright, I did forget about the last one when I was coming out, but all in all it was okay and I didn’t scratch the boat. I did bump a couple of times, but Mark said, “that’s what the rubrail is for, so you can rub.” The Moorings crew was very forgiving and as we left the harbour, they stood on their bow, cheering and whistling, calling “encore, encore.” I just love docking.



That night, our last with Mark aboard, we talked engines. Mark has a very precise way of explaining things which somehow clicks with my way of learning and finally, FINALLY, I understand engines. I now understand when we had a “scored cylinder” back in April, what the heck a cylinder is. And I understand why the engines make all that noise and why clean fuel is a must.



It was a night of bonding, where our friendships were solidified. Although we were excited to be on our own, we were sad to see Captain Slipknot go.



Chain of fools

Mark and I spent the morning in the engine room. Now that I understood what I was looking at, it was much easier. He showed me where all the components we talked about were and suddenly the idea and theory of engines made sense.



We did some anchoring drills, practicing the Caribbean Split where we use two anchors set at a 90° angle to each other, designed to hold the boat in high winds. We cruised over to Marsh Harbour, the main town in Abaco where the airport was located. The forecast was calling for 30 knot winds radiating from a small Tropical Storm called Dennis, predicted to pass far to the South of us.



We set the two anchors up in a Caribbean Split again and this time it was my turn to heave the second anchor overboard. You see, the main anchor, our Delta, is set up on our bow roller, a long platform which extends from the bow of the boat. The Delta sits permanently on the bow, hanging over, ready for service at all times. But our second anchor, the Fortress, is a different story. It lives in the anchor locker, next to the chain we attach to it. Then, when we need to use it, like in gusty conditions, we set it up on deck and have to loop the chain out the bow roller, back up onto the deck and shackle it to the Fortress. If it sounds confusing, that’s because it is, and the essence of it is that I had to hoist the Fortress overboard while it was attached to the chain and when I was doing so, my hand got caught in the chain and all the skin on my knuckles ripped off.



I wanted to drop right there. To cradle my bleeding hand against me and cry from the shock. But Captain Mark knew better. “You’ve got a tangled anchor – get in there,” he shouted. And suddenly I was Gymnastic Olympian Kerry Strug and Mark was her unforgettable coach shouting, “shake it off, shake it off.” Kerry would have been proud. Her coach would have been proud. I got right in there and untangled the chain, knuckles burning and all. And only when I had the correct amount of line paid out, and the end of the rode was secured to the cleat, then, I started to cry a little, tears stinging along with my hand.



Mark congratulated me and we all went inside where Grant fixed me an icepack. It hurt so much less knowing I finished the anchor anyway. And now I know, before I throw anything overboard, I’m going to check exactly how the chain will pull and whether any parts of me are in the way. It’s a mistake I’ll only make once.



Alone at last

We all got ready to dinghy over to Marsh Harbour, for Mark’s flight back to the States. There was a nervous edge to the air, as Grant and I knew we would soon be all alone. Alone with Blue.



At the airport, we all shared a final meal of conch burgers, laughter and beer, and then we said our goodbyes. We watched Mark’s plane take off and immediately there was a hole where he had been. Captain Mark was the ultimate instructor, patient and generous. He really paid attention to how we each learned best and tailor made a program where we learned how to handle our boat. Add to that a guy you liked being around, a friend who was quick to laugh and ready to share a million stories. The experience was perfect.











Grant and I headed back to Blue, filled with the silence all around. We were finally alone with each other and our boat. Did we take her out around the harbour? Did we look at the charts and plan our next cruise? No, we got into bed and took a long awaited, much needed nap.



When we woke up, we flipped on the VHF radio, just in time to hear a weather report about approaching Hurricane Dennis…





xoLayne A.L. Pecoff