It’s still hard to believe that we left the clear blue waters of the Bahamas 2 weeks ago. Here are some pictures of our last 24 hours there.

One last beach for the kids at Great Sale Cay. Not much sand, but warm, shallow, flat water is what O likes. Plus little critters to catch & play with.

From Great Sale Cay, we had a 55 mile sail along the Little Bahama Bank and then another 55 miles in deep water across the Gulf Stream to Florida.

A little bird took a break on our boat. The nearest land at this point was probably 20 miles away.

I’ve read stories about how tame birds are when they land on your boat. So I let the kiddos try to feed him. No luck. They just ended up chasing the bird around the boat until 10 minutes later, the bird flew off.

A lone dolphin visited us. It’s always amazing every time we see them in clear water. We see a lot more dolphins in Florida, but there you only get to see the fins & any other parts that come out of the water. In the Bahamas, you can see them swim along your boat.

And of course, fishing. It’s taken me a few months to get fairly competent at fishing, both from the boat & spear fishing. Here I’m just watching my 2 lines that I’m trolling from the stern of our boat. I usually don’t like to fish in the shallow banks, but I know there’s not much time for fishing left.

Mostly what I catch on the banks is barracuda. But here’s a big mutton snapper that I caught (I actually caught 3 of these over the last 3 days in the Bahamas). Although I hear they are good eating, I threw him back because they are listed as a vulnerable species and he is too large for our tastes (won’t risk ciguatera with the kids).

Right before sunset, I caught this skipjack tuna. I also caught a king mackerel and a mahi mahi to round out the last of my fishing. The fridge was well stocked for the next week.

Sun setting as we leave the Bahamas and enter the Gulf Stream.

So much has happened since we last posted. Decisions to be made, miles to slog through, boxes to pack, a boat to decommission. We still haven’t processed it yet. And quite frankly, we’re exhausted. Unlike our blow-by-blow account of buying a boat and moving aboard, this time I’d like a bit more perspective before writing about it. So more to come someday. In the meantime, we’re driving up the coast and visiting friends before we settle down for the summer.

G-town. I’ve heard it described as “adult summer camp” for cruise and “a circus”. It certainly was overwhelming for us to get a lay of the land, to navigate the myriad of activities and communications.

We came on a mission to find V’s conch, a special one that George hid on Stocking Island. I drew up a map with his instructions and we set off with sv Robin to find it. The mission was a success and now the pretty conch (with nary a hole in it thanks to George’s freezer trick) sits in V’s cabin.

(O finds a swing that’s just right for him.)

It was nice to meet other families with children. We loved how the grocery store and free water were right off the dinghy dock. But after a week, we were happy to move on.

We enjoy the simple pleasures in life. Collecting seashells, playing on the beach, hanging out with just one or two other boats at a time. We’re heading north now, hoping to get up to the Abacos before returning to the U.S.

They’re impish, full of energy and curious. In short, they’re children.

They roam the streets in gaggles like kindy bike gangs after school and on weekends.

No one is watching them. Except that everyone is.

They have a very loose understanding of property. (“Give me your helmet,” a girl said to V.)

They aren’t bashful about recruiting any nearby adult for help. (“Give me a push,” a girl instructed Serena while getting herself comfortable on V’s bike. “I like it fast.”)

The boys pop wheelies like second nature.

Those who don’t go to school yet hang out during the day. They don’t mind teaching V their nursery rhymes, including “Cry baby wash your face” (which leads to “teacher calls you dummy fool”) and “Boys go to boys’ school. Girls go to girls’ school. Boys’ school is ugly. Girls’ school is pretty.”

No one can tell me for sure if they can swim, as they teeter by the water’s edge.

Ah, childhood.

Wildie bobbed in the water, stern to the wind. The mooring ball bumped around underneath us. I sighed and picked up the phone. The only words I managed to text Serena were, “A little pickle.” Then I called Towboat U.S.

It was was November. I was single handing (solo sailing) for the day while Serena and the kids were with my parents. Sunshine with a north wind blowing about 20 knots and a moderate chop on the ICW. I made great time motorsailing, arriving at Titusville Municipal Marina an hour early.

After locating our mooring ball, I took a first pass. I turned upwind to pick up the pendant (the line attached to the mooring ball that ties off to our boat). I put the engine in neutral, grabbed the boat hook, and ran up to the bow but the pendant was just out of reach. By the time I went back to the cockpit to give the engine some more juice the wind had already started to turn the boat.

Second pass. This time I grabbed the pendant, but found a big plastic eye at the end of the line. Puzzled, I tried putting it on one of my cleats, before realizing that 1) it wouldn’t hold our boat and 2) the wind was turning the boat again. I let go of the pendant, headed back into the cockpit to try again.

On the third approach I realized that the plastic eye was for threading our line through and attaching that to the cleats, forming a bridle. I kept the engine in gear a little longer past the mooring ball, so that I would have a little extra time to grab my own line in the forward anchor locker. The mooring ball was about midship. I grabbed the pendant line and my anchor snubber line with pre-tied loops to go around my cleats. The knot in my line prevented it from threading through the eye. Ugh.

The wind blew the boat back, and I tried to keep Wildie from being turned. Soon, the boat went over the mooring ball. I put the engine in neutral so the pendant wouldn’t get wrapped on our prop. Thud. The mooring ball banged against our hull. Then we stopped dead. It was still blowing 20 knots, and we were in line with all the other boats on moorings…backwards.

I couldn’t even see the ball under us. I could only reach the end of the pendant with the boat hook, but I couldn’t pull it loose.

Some neighbors dinghied over. They were Spaniards with limited English. I gestured and managed to say “pelota” and he said he saw it on the starboard side. We tried to pull it loose, but no go. I was prepared to dive down but who would man the helm?

I called the marina, and they referred me to TowboatUS. Time to play the unlimited towing card. In the meantime, I texted Serena.

The TowboatUS guy came and tied up to our boat and rotated Wildie around the mooring to try and free us. Still stuck. He tried the other direction. Still stuck.

I donned a wetsuit and a snorkel mask. After a brief gameplan and safety discussion I jumped in.

A little pickle…

Under water I saw the shackle that attaches the chain to the mooring ball was stuck in the joint between the skeg and hull. The buoyancy of the mooring ball and the wind held that shackle jammed in place. I relayed this to the TowboatUS driver. He then pushed the boat into the wind to relieve the tension while I pulled down on the shackle. We were free within 10 seconds.

A bruised ego, a few cuts on my hands (from grabbing the chain and shackle underwater), and 2 hours after my estimated arrival time, I was finally settled.

Fast forward to Hatchet Bay, Eleuthera. We were having dinner with a new friend, George. We exchanged horror stories and I shared my Titusville mooring ball drama. He had a good chuckle. George said he was warning some guys about trying to pick up a mooring ball from the side of the boat next to the cockpit. There’s the prop and all the moving parts to get tangled up in the lines. “I told them, ‘Don’t be that guy in Titusville!’”

Yep. I’m that guy.