IN SEARCH OF PARADISE, PART FIVE

For the second morning in a row, the sun came up too soon and we weren’t prepared for Gail’s voice over the VHF declaring “anchor’s up.”  By the time we came up into the cockpit, “Victory” and “Windy Liz” already had their hooks up.  We, on the other hand, had TWO still securely fastened to the bottom holding “Up Jinks” into the wind.

We were getting ready to learn that “what you ‘dropeth’ one day, you have to ‘raiseth’ the next.”  Normally, it should be a relatively easy task to raise two anchors.  That would assume they are both stemming from their proper places in the anchor locker.  Such was not the case this time.  Our Bruce routinely occupies the port compartment of the locker.  It was the main anchor off the bow, so it had to come up first. 

Because of how we maneuvered the Danforth the night before, it now stretched out from the port side of the boat as well.  Its normal position is in the starboard compartment of the locker.  That was going to be the tricky part – getting the rode back around the bow of the boat to the starboard side in order to raise the Danforth into the proper compartment.

Before we started, John called me up to the bow to explain what we needed to do.  “We’ll obviously have to bring the Bruce up first,” he said. 

I nodded.

“Then, what’s got to happen is you carefully swing the boat around to port so that I can get the Danforth rode and pull it across the bow.  Once I get enough of it, I should be able to wrap it around the windlass and pull the anchor up.”

“Okay,” I answered, sensing an underlying distress in his instructions. 

“Just be very careful,” he continued.

“Okay.”

“You’ve got to make sure that the rode doesn’t get underneath the boat.  If it does, it could wrap around the keel.  Understand?”

“So, what do you suggest?” My throat began to go dry.  At this stage in my sailing skills, I know how to do certain things comfortably, but I still get the shakes when presented with anything new.  The “learning by doing” teaching method was really starting to get to me.

“Keep pulling ‘Up Jinks’ to starboard.  You can see the rode on the bottom, right?”

I looked down.  The clear water was a blessing.  I could see the rode as it tautly stretched off the side of the boat straight to the bottom. 

“Keep your eye on the rode.  Once I get the Bruce up, you’ll want to keep it very straight out to the port side as you bring the bow around towards it.  Okay?”

With as much conviction as I could muster, I answered, “Yes.”  After all, I wasn’t the only one learning here.  John had never done this either.  He was depending on me to keep us from getting into a tangled mess. 

“Ready?”

“Okay….”

With that, he started working on the Bruce.  There wasn’t much I could do to help at this point.  I could give him a little forward motion to get the rode started up around the windlass.  But, the other anchor restricted much movement by the boat. 

After a few minutes, I could hear the chain (the last 40 yards of the rode) grinding around the windlass.  Clankety-clank-thump! The Bruce came up into its pulpit.  As it did so, “Up Jinks” took a natural turn to port as the force of the Danforth anchor took over. 

I gave the engine enough juice to counter the pull, keeping my eye on the rode making sure it stayed straight.  John went over to the portside cleat where the rode was secured.  He carefully untied it.  Then, as I kept the boat trailing sort of an arc away from the anchor, he walked the rode down the port side toward the bow.  He stepped out onto the tip of the pulpit and transferred the rode around the bow to the starboard side.  In effect, this took the pressure off of me because the anchor was now effectively in its proper placement with the boat, coming directly off of the bow. 

“Hold it right there,” he shouted.

I put the engine in neutral.  “Up Jinks” slowed her glide as John folded the rode into the compartment like a lazy snake.  Once again, I heard the sound of the chain scraping against the windlass, knowing that we were almost done.  Clankety-clank-thump!   

“She’s up!”  he yelled. 

I pushed the throttle forward.  “Up Jinks” lurched ahead as if to say “Finally!”  She wasn’t happy that the two other boats had such a jump on her. “Windy Liz” and “Victory” were already well out in the channel and past Mama Rhoda Rock.  Her patience with her crew was beginning to wear a little thin!

John kept the throttle fully open to make up some distance between us and the other boats.  It didn’t take long for us to leave Chub Cay behind and once again cross into the deep, Navy blue waters of “The Tongue of the Ocean.”  We set the autopilot for a 130 -degree course and headed for New Providence Island and Nassau, the capital of the Bahamas.  

For the next five hours, we repeated what we had done the two days before – motor sailing.  We tried opening up the Jib, but the wind was pretty much on our nose, so it didn’t offer any benefit. 

As New Providence began to appear on the horizon, “Windy Liz” took the lead position.  Ray and Gail had been here before and knew the procedures for coming into Nassau Harbor.  By the time we were five miles offshore, the chatter on the radio began to really pick up.  Boats entering and leaving the harbor have to gain permission to do so with the Nassau Harbour Control.  We could hear Gail hailing them.  “This is the sailing vessel ‘Windy Liz’ requesting permission to enter the harbor.” 

After several attempts, she was able to get their attention.  We listened intently to the conversation so we would know what to say when we made the call.  I’m not really sure how much of this exercise was bonafide and how much of it was for show.  Maybe the Bahamians have a list somewhere of the boats that should be denied entry, but it certainly didn’t include any of the boats that chattered all over each other on the VHF that day. 

Ray and Gail had reservations for us at the Nassau Harbour Marina.  We hadn’t been in a marina for two weeks and I was really looking forward to being able to get off the boat without the necessity of the dinghy.  It would also be nice to have access to electricity and showers. 

It took a few minutes to get into our slip and tie down the boat.  Then, we had to go through the customs and immigration process.  Even though we actually had been in the territory of the Bahamas for 48 hours, this was the first time that we had come to shore.  It was now time to officially register our presence in the country and pay the $300 entry fee.  The rules allow only for the captain of a vessel to leave the boat.  All crew has to stay on board until cleared.  That would be me. 

John hopped off “Up Jinks” and went to find the dockmaster.  I decided to come out of the cockpit and sit in one of the “catbird” seats extending out from the stern.  That way, while he was occupied with official business, I could have a better vantage point for canvassing my surroundings. 

I’m not really sure what I expected out of Nassau.  My only orientation to it was from advertisements and travel brochures promoting it as a getaway rife with romantic resorts – a virtual “paradise” if you will.  My first panoramic sweep of the place produced mixed impressions.  Across the harbor from the marina was, in fact, Paradise Island, home to Atlantis, a mega million dollar resort that marks the island with a monstrous hotel that looks like an arrogantly tacky drip castle.  Its turrets are connected by a crosswalk suspended high above the ground.   The resort houses waterslides, spas, casinos and its signature attraction – a tunnel under the water that offers a firsthand look at the aquatic habitat surrounding the island.  Other resorts, not quite so conspicuous, consume the remainder of the island.  As I scanned back across the harbour to the Nassau side, I wondered how much of a downgrade there would be between this symbol of opulence on Paradise Island and everything else on New Providence.             

John came back pretty quickly.  We were fortunate in that the immigration and customs officials would actually come to our boat at this marina.  We didn’t have to go to them.  In pretty short order, two very handsome uniformed immigration officers from the Defense Department came down the dock.  They boarded “Up Jinks” and we proceeded to answer all of their questions (like how long we planned to be in the country and did we have any guns on the boat), produce our passports and the boat registration.  Both they and their interrogation were very pleasant.   They welcomed us to the Bahamas and left the boat.

We continued to wait for someone from Customs.  In about a half-hour, I spotted a man wandering around the marina who really didn’t appear to be much more than a mechanic.  He had on khaki overalls unbuttoned to the waist revealing a dingy white tee shirt.  His face was unshaven and he wore ratty old tennis shoes.  I kept my eye on him as he started down the dock towards us.  Sure enough, he turned down the finger pier running alongside our starboard. 

“You need Customs?” he said.

“Yes, we’re waiting on someone from Customs,” John answered as he began to move outside the cockpit between me and the man.

“ ‘Dat would be me.” When he grinned, his teeth broadcast two gold caps on the front.  The only thing that made him look official at all was the clipboard he carried in his hand. 

John somewhat dubiously welcomed him to the boat.  Many of the questions he asked were redundant to those of immigration.  We showed him our passports and made our customs declarations.  When it came time to hand over the $300 entry fee, I don’t think John was fully convinced that this guy was for real.  But, then the man asked if we would like to have a fishing license included with the fee – at no extra cost.  He had to be legit.  No fraud would pass up an opportunity to take a few more bucks off of us if they could.  John jumped on that.  After catching the King Mackerel on the way over, he was eager to do some more fishing while in the Bahamas.  The man concluded by giving us some papers to file with customs on our departure from the country.    

“So we can get off the boat now?” I asked. 

“Welcome to Nassau young lady” he laughed.  He hopped off the boat and walked back down the dock just as nonchalantly as he had approached.  Maybe he works on cars in between customs appointments.  Or, maybe he just doesn’t care what he wears.  Either way, it was certainly not his priority to make a good impression.     

By then, I was very eager to get off “Up Jinks” and stretch my legs.  I was also curious to see exactly where we were and get a glimpse of Nassau proper.  There was a motel attached to the marina with a swimming pool situated between the rooms and the docks.  As I walked by, I could tell it was very modest, nothing like the Atlantis across the harbour on Paradise Island.  I found my way into a hall with a spiral staircase going up.  It took me to street level and the lobby of the motel. The entrance opened under a portico onto what was obviously a very busy street.  I stepped outside.

GEEEEZ!! HELLO!!  Okay, let’s get reacquainted with cars.  Like cars that are racing down the road.  I mean a little two lane road that the drivers obviously think is an interstate highway.  And, they are all driving in the left-hand lane!  Grab my toe back. Yeah!  Maybe the fact that I had been on the boat for two weeks solid exaggerated my reaction to the traffic.  But, the frenetic montage of cars and jitney buses, speeding and honking along the way really stunned me. 

I peered across the blur of automobiles to get my first impression of Nassau.  Would what I saw bear out the proclamations of the tourism ads and brochures?  Would the capital of the Bahamas, in the shadow of Atlantis on Paradise Island, in fact be Paradise as well?  I know it’s probably a little oxymoronic to ask this, but “What in hell is Paradise?”