In Search of Paradise, Part Four

There was no time for a leisurely breakfast.  Gail hailed us at 7:00 with the “Up Anchor” call.  The day’s destination was Chub Cay at the southern tip of the Berry Islands.  At least we were starting in daylight this time, for which I was very grateful.

The next five hours or so we continued over the Bahama Bank at a heading of 100 degrees.  Around 1:00 PM, we came off the Bank onto what’s known as “The Tongue of the Ocean,” a sliver of the Atlantic that cuts its way into the Bank bounded by the Berry Islands to the north, Andros Island on the west and New Providence to the east.  In a matter of seconds, the water changed color as if to be the seamless handoff of the baton in a relay race.  The azure smoothly turned to a turquoise which proceeded to a sky blue which progressed into the deep navy that signified we were once again over depths into the thousands.     

The three boats made good time maintaining slightly more than 6 knots speed over ground.  By mid-afternoon, the faint spikes of shrubs on Chub became visible.  As we drew closer, I could see that the cay was pretty nondescript, but when you haven’t seen land for over 24 hours, any scruffy little patch can be beautiful.  We slowly came into an anchorage area between Mama Rhoda Rock on our port side and the beach stretching along the western side of the cay to starboard.  The anchorage was a little tricky because the main channel leading into the heart of the cay cut right through it.  “Windy Liz” went in first and found a spot on the northern side.  “Victory” and “Up Jinks” took positions along the beach. 

Even though we were close to land, the anchorage itself was still pretty exposed to the wind.  John reflected on the fiasco from the night before and determined that we best put two anchors out.  He had one main concern – dragging.  Dragging on the Bank was one thing.  You could drag there for miles and never hit anything.  In this anchorage, it would be a real problem.   The beach was only a few hundred yards off our stern.  To our bow were the channel and Mama Rhoda Rock which was surrounded by coral reefs.  Drifting even a little would cause major problems.      

At the time, the wind was coming out of the northwest.  We headed “Up Jinks” into it and set the Bruce as the main anchor off the bow.  Then, John took the Danforth anchor off of the pulpit and carried it down the starboard side of the boat.  I pulled the anchor rode out of the locker as he did so.  He proceeded to drop the Danforth off of the starboard stern, let it set and secured the rode around a cleat.  By setting the anchors in this configuration he hoped to keep “Up Jinks” from vigorously swinging back and forth on the bow anchor line should the wind whip up during the night.      

By this time, it was almost 5:00 PM.  We went downstairs to clean up and change clothes.  Everybody was coming to “Up Jinks” for dinner.  John planned to grill the King Mackerel he caught coming across the Gulf Stream the day before.  It was large enough to yield eight beautiful filets and I had zipped them up in a baggie to soak in lemon juice with a mixture of spices. 

As the sun meandered slowly to its demise in the west, our company arrived on their dinghies.   It was a far cry from the day before when the water made travel by dinghy hazardous to one’s health.  We had a boisterous time, raising our glasses to the day’s safe travel.  The fish was excellent.  All seemed to be back to normal.  I started thinking that maybe, just maybe, tucked here in the arm of a scrawny cay, we were finally entering the limits of Paradise.

It was fully dark by the time everyone left.  John had to shine our spotlight over the water to guide the two couples to their boats.  Once we saw that they were safely aboard, we went down into the salon to wash the dishes and prepare for what we knew would be a good night’s sleep.  It certainly couldn’t be worse than the night before.  Plus, we had the extra anchor out to give us additional comfort.

I’m not really sure what time it was, but at some point I awoke from a deep sleep to hear footsteps overhead in the cockpit.  For some reason, John was out of bed and up top.  The wind was whirring loudly once more and there was a rhythmic smacking sound resonating against the port side of the boat.  I crawled out of the bed and poked my head up the companionway.

“What’s going on?”

“The wind’s shifted and we’re broadside to it.  I’ve got to let some more rode out to this stern anchor so the bow can turn into it.”

“Can I help?”

“I can always use help.”

So, I climbed up the companionway, into the cockpit. John was holding a flashlight trying to follow the path of the anchor rode into the water.  We were quite a sight, both of us barefoot and in our pajamas.  He asked me to go to the anchor locker at the bow and, on his signal, start pulling the rode out.  It was just like the night before.  The wind and water were doing their dance.  A misty spray began to dampen my clothes and every few seconds, water would lap up on the port side from the waves beating against “Up Jinks.”  Holding onto the lifeline, I gingerly worked my way to the bow.

John yelled to me and I began releasing the rode. 

“Stop! That’s enough.” 

“Okay, I’m stopped!”

Other than continuing to get wet, nothing happened. 

“Give me some more,” John screamed above the wind.

“I’m giving you more,” I screamed back.

The wind carried the expletives coming out of John’s mouth back to me.  Like a stubborn mule, “Up Jinks” held her position. 

I made my way back to the cockpit.  “What’s the problem?” 

“This anchor’s on the starboard side and the wind is coming from our port.  It doesn’t matter how much rode we let out.  She’s not going to turn unless we can get it to the other side.”

As in the words of the Apollo 13 crew – “Houston, we have a problem!”  We couldn’t “raise” the Danforth normally using the windlass at the bow.  The Bruce was in the way.  And, we certainly couldn’t raise the Bruce because that would basically cut us loose leaving the bow to flounder against the wind and waves.  The bow had to stay secure no matter what.  Leaving things as they were wouldn’t work either.  There was no telling what might happen to the boat with the force of the waves persistently pounding her side.  Since we couldn’t move the anchor, the only choice was move the rode.  You might think that moving the rode from one side of a boat to the other would be relatively simple.  It’s not.  Not when it’s dark, the wind is screeching, the waves bashing, the mist flying AND you have to take it around the stern end of the boat – all 400 feet of it! 

The first thing we had to do was get all of the rode out of the locker and onto the deck.  John took care of that.  Then, before he released it from the portside cleat, he wrapped it around the jib winch to give him leverage when he started letting it out. This was the easy part.  He took the rode off of the cleat and slowly began rolling it out off the winch.  The force against the wind and the anchor kept it taut.  A little slack would have been most welcomed.

Within a few minutes we had literally “come to the end of our rope (or rode in this case.)”  But, unlike that old familiar phrase, we couldn’t just “tie a knot in it and hang on!”  At this point, John had to manually take the rode around the bimini support on the port side, hold onto it across the stern, bring it around the starboard side bimini support and cleat it.  This was where some slack would genuinely have come in handy.  At the bow, our 25,000 pound boat was straining to turn into the wind.  At the stern, the rode plummeted straight down to the bottom locked tightly to the anchor on the other end. 

Pretty much helpless at this point, my job was to keep the flashlight trained on the rode as it disappeared into the water.  The critical juncture would be passing it from port to starboard across the rudder.  If the rode tangled around the rudder, it could break the rudder apart.  As John began to maneuver across the stern, my heart was basically in my throat.  I really don’t know how he had the strength to hold on to the rode.  For an agonizing second, it appeared that the rode was not going to come across to the starboard side, that it was indeed hung up on the rudder.  Then, almost like letting out a sigh of relief, “Up Jinks” started swinging into the wind.  The rode moved to the starboard side and John wrapped it quickly around the jib winch, pulling in the excess.

We both slumped down onto the cockpit seat cushions and sat there, making sure that the boat was okay.  It was also necessary to gather ourselves for a minute.  The whole exercise was physically strenuous for John.  I was a little shaky just from the anxiety.

Then, John started chuckling. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“Any more about the Paradise thing.”

I started laughing.  “Oh, what could be more ‘Paradisical’ than this?  It’s 3:00 o’clock in the morning, we’re standing here in our pajamas soaking wet having moved the anchor from one side of the boat to the other.  It’s the stuff of brochures, isn’t it? I mean, the moon’s out and everything.”

He just shook his head and made his way down the companionway.  I followed behind him.  After toweling off and changing into fresh pajamas, we crawled back into bed.  Lord, I needed a good night’s sleep in the worst way.  It wasn’t two seconds before John was snoring.  I drifted off sometime later thinking that the next night would HAVE to be better.  After all, we were headed for Nassau - civilization and an actual dock.  Paradise must be just a day away.