In Search of Paradise, Part Two

Serendipity is surely fate's happy twin and, in her usual whimsical way, she introduced us to Ray and Gail Thompson. "Ahoy, Up Jinks," Gail yelled from their dinghy. "We're from the Windy Liz." Having said only that, we knew she was from somewhere far above the Mason-Dixon Line. They pulled up close to our stern and threw us their line. "Just wanted to see what your plans ah'. We've been waiting to do our crossing and noticed you seemed to be doing the same thing."

John nodded quickly. "We've been looking for a window to go over to Bimini and then on to the Exumas."

"Oh, wow!" (Gail is one of those people so permanently excited about life that she either does or seems to start every sentence with "wow.") "We're headed to the Exumas, too. We went there last ye'ah. Would you have any interest in going togethah'?"

At this point, I perked up. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I had been silently hoping for companions. Here, simply, they came to us. Better still, they had made the voyage before. Gail explained that she had already canvassed “Victory” and they were also in the same predicament. So, we decided on the spot to have a meeting that evening aboard Up Jinks to talk about the logistics of a shared trip over the Gulf Stream into the Bahamas.

During our week-long stay at No Name Harbor, I had observed some of the goings on of “Victory.” Many an afternoon, I could see a silver-haired man relaxing, zipped up inside the full dodger that encircled the center cockpit of the boat. “Victory” was anchored between us and the southern wall of the harbor, so when we dinghied over, sometimes we would elicit a wave. Beyond that, we had no contact until the afternoon of the meeting.

Around 5:00 that afternoon, the three couples sat in the cockpit of Up Jinks, having some wine and cheese, and laughing as if they had known each other for years. I’ve begun to describe Gail as quite an extrovert. Her husband, Ray, is her perfect counterpunch. He is a very large man who played football for the University of Miami in the 60’s. His swollen, gnarled knees have to remind him of those glory days. They stiffen up on him at any over exertion and I’m sure every time he takes a step, he recalls a block off the line either given or received. His countenance is a contrast to Gail’s. Whereas, she is overtly expressive, accentuating her points with wide gestures of the arms, Ray speaks with his eyes. His jaws make a little grinding motion as he listens to the conversation. Then, when he takes the opportunity to say something, it’s usually punctuated with a little “ha” of a laugh. It is certainly always something worth hearing. Including Ray, I’ve known three such big, yet gentle good-hearted men. The other two are Roger Jones and Mert Hatfield.

We learned that the silver hair on “Victory” belonged to Oliver Hitch, a retired insurance executive from Virginia. He and his somewhat younger wife, Victoria, had commissioned the boat over ten years ago. But, this was their first extended cruise into the Bahamas. They were ultimately on their way to Georgetown, Grand Exuma Island, to visit a friend who lived there.

Like Gail and Ray, the Hitches are a study. They both have blue eyes and they both own “Victory.” But, those are the only two commonalities. Where Oliver has the silky, silver mane, Victoria’s hair is dark brunette. Oliver’s feisty personality leads you to believe that he was quite the successful salesman. Victoria is more serene, a perfect lady in dress and demeanor. They balance each other delightfully.

With great anticipation, we deliberated over the business at hand. On paper, it looked like we would be a great team. Ray and Gail had crossed over before to go to the Exumas. Oliver and Victoria had sailed for fifteen years. Victoria even taught courses for the Power Squadron on the Chesapeake back home. We, though relatively new to all of this, did have almost a year of cruising under our belts. There definitely would be strength in numbers.

The main topic of conversation centered around the weather. For days we had waited for the wind to both clock around and settle down. All indications were that “tomorrow would be the day.” It was agreed that we would depart no later than 5:00 AM which meant rising by 4:00 to have time for one last check of the weather, some coffee, and a final stowing of loose objects below. Ray shared all of the waypoint information he had saved from their previous Exuma trip. The route would take us between Gun Cay and Cat Cay, on the other side of the Gulf Stream, onto the Great Bahamas Bank where we would anchor for the first night. The meeting broke up with everybody disbursed back to the three boats to rest up and make ready.

As I was putting away the snacks and rinsing out the wine glasses, I realized that little prickles of tension were starting to creep up my back, into my shoulders and up my neck. I recognized it for what it was – anxiety about leaving the relative security of shore cruising to make the leap across the deep, swift, navy blue Gulf Stream. I had only done this once before on our first, long range trip to West End, Bahamas, a couple of years before. On that day, we motored the whole way, pounding head on into 8 to 10 foot swells. At the time, we didn’t have a dodger, so every wave would crash over the bow sending rivers of water down each side routing through the cockpit. This went on for almost eight hours. At one point, I was down in the galley making sandwiches and when I raised my arms up the companionway to deliver lunch to the crew in the cockpit, a huge wave came plowing down the sides of the boat with such force that the water came down the companionway into my face as if someone had just intentionally emptied an entire bucket of water right on top of my head. By the time we reached West End, my face was so plastered with salt, I couldn’t close my lips together. My hair stood straight out rather petrified, a little like “Stymie” in the old Our Gang stories. These memories started coming back to me now as we prepared for the crossing in the morning.

John thoughtfully suggested that we go over to the Boater’s Grill to have dinner. On the way over in the dinghy, my apprehension continued. We both ordered the specialty of the house - whole fried yellow-tail snapper. By the time my plate came, I was somewhat apoplectic. As I looked at that poor, pitiful fish staring back up at me through his bulging, cornmeal-dusted eyes, with his jaw set in the gasp of his last breath, all I could think was “I bet he was in the Gulf Stream.” I imagined with a degree of melancholy that our fates were somehow to be the same.

When we returned to Up Jinks, I went into my “big water” rituals. These consist of the things I do whenever I know we’re going to be “outside,” as in “the ocean.” First and foremost, was applying the TransDerm-Scop patch behind my ear to stave off seasickness. Then, I went to the internet and wrote my daughters emails telling them that we were leaving, would be out of touch for a while, and reminding them where all of our important papers are. This was followed up by phone calls to both of them hoping to catch the sounds of their voices one more time. You would have thought that the earth was still flat and I was getting ready to sail off the edge.

Finally, it was time to get to bed. I knew sleeping was out of the question. I can’t ever sleep when I know I have to get up at some arbitrarily early hour. That, compounded with my anxiety, meant a wakeful night.

John, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep because he was so excited. He had feverishly worked on getting Ray’s waypoints set in the C-Map chips. His focus was on having things ship-shape so all we would have to do in the morning was lift the anchor and leave. When he did make his way back to our berth, his eager anticipation was palpable. He stopped right in the middle of sliding on his pajamas and looked me straight in the eye. “We’re going to Paradise tomorrow, mama,” he stated positively, as if I might have somehow missed the point.

“I know, daddy,” I said, trying to throw some “umph” into my voice. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Now, sometimes you can win a trick with a one-eyed Jack. And, it is possible to do something with one hand tied behind your back. But, you can never really sleep with one eye open. That night was proof positive for me. John snored peacefully beside me as I kept checking the clock periodically to see how long until 4:00.

At some point, sleep overcame me because I was dead to the world when Ray’s voice crackled over the VHF, “Up Jinks, Victory, this is Windy Liz.” John was already in the salon and he quickly answered “Up Jinks here. Let’s go to 72.” They talked a few minutes, decided to listen to the weather, then re-hail in fifteen minutes. “Victory” never responded, so Ray attempted to contact them again.

I crawled to the end of the bed, pulled my nightshirt over my head and fumbled around in the closet for a bra. For a minute, I sat staring at the compartment that holds my tee-shirts and shorts. On a normal cruising day, I would just grab the shirt closest to my reach which most often proved to be the very shirt from the day before. But, today was going to be a significant one in our big adventure and I wanted to wear something that would make a statement.

Would somebody please tell me how a tee-shirt knows when you want to wear it and then proceeds to do everything it can not to be found? It’s amazing to me how many times the very shirt I’m looking for requires the displacement of all the other shirts in the compartment. While John was in the salon concentrating on the serious consideration of the weather, I was in our berth surrounding myself with tee-shirts. The shirt I wanted was one purchased at a pet store in Portland, Maine, on our first cruise up the east coast. Across the front of it, in big black letters, is the word “FETCH,” which is my nickname on Up Jinks due to my constant climbing up and down the companionway when we’re sailing, trying to make sure the captain has everything he wants. From experience I knew that this was going to be a “fetching” day and thought the shirt would be appropriate.

While the tee-shirt search was going on, John was listening to the NOAA weather channel. Finally, I came into the salon to start the coffee process when two things caught my attention. One was the distinct sound of the wind outside which had stopped whistling, moved up to shirring, but not yet gone to roaring. The second was the voice over the radio making the suggestion that people should “tie down their trash cans” if possible.

John sat intently at the navigation station hearing all of this. He pulled the VHF microphone up to his mouth and called “Windy Liz, Windy Liz, this is Up Jinks.”

“Windy Liz here, Go to 72.”
“Up Jinks to 72. Ray, did you hear what they just said? Over.”
“Yeah. More importantly, Gail heard what they said. Over.”
“I’m not sure we want to get out there with trash cans flying around. No point in starting out just to turn back around.”
“I agree. We’ll just have to wait and see what it does today and tomorrow. Over.”
“Roger that. Up Jinks out and standing by on 16.”

Poof! In less than sixty seconds, the crossing was aborted. The week-long build up of anxiety, the TransDerm Scop patch, the sleepless night, the frantic search for my FETCH tee-shirt – all for nothing. The sailing vessel “Victory” slept through the whole thing.

It would be two more days before we actually left No Name Harbor. Under to cover of darkness on March 11, our three boats slipped quietly out into the Cape Florida Channel looking very reminiscent of the Nina, Pinta and Santa Marie minus a soon-to-be-missed Columbus. Windy Liz was in the lead, Up Jinks second and Victory bringing up the rear. We were finally leaving for Paradise.

To Be Continued