Story: 084 – That Perfect Bahamian Cruise Teller: Don Hightower & Bob That Perfect Bahamian Cruise This story is a collaboration along two dimensions. First, and most apparent, it is a joint tale between Don Hightower and me. You will notice that it is mostly Don’s voice, but I will interject myself, politely I trust, into his scene from time to time. The second dimension is the collaboration of the senses. All five will play a part, so you need to be on the lookout for the different interactions of sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing. Together we deliver this sailing feast by way of a cruise aboard Don’s Hunter 34, Finesse. The yarn tells the tale as if it were a single voyage. The truth is a tad more complex; it is an amalgamation of many trips and ex- periences to those storied isles. We will have done our job if you can place yourself alongside Don and Binnie and experience that perfect Bahamian cruise. This afternoon was what I consider a sailor’s dream. A few cotton white, fair-weather clouds float on a dark blue sky. The heavens above made the azure sea even more beautiful. It was a day when you could easily overuse the word “perfect.” The day sported a “Goldilocks” wind, not too light or too heavy, but just right for cruising. The constant gentle breeze we felt on our faces was not only cooling on this hot tropical day, but ani- mated Finesse to do her best. Her hinged prop blades folded gently back like the ears of a greyhound on a slow trot. It was as if she was waiting for the command, “run.” If the boat could speak, she would say, “trim my sheets, adjust my traveler, and pay attention to the apparent wind indicator, and you will see what I can do.” But, she need not speak because, in a real sense, she is a part of me. Binnie commented that Aeolus must have a hand on our and is gently pushing us along. We have raced many times with this genoa and mainsail united, but this time, we are competing with no one on this peaceful day. We were not watching with a hawk’s eye for a wind shift. A perfect draft of the cloth was not necessary. It seemed that ‘lady’ Finesse was on something similar to a lunch break and was beautifully gliding along without any enhancing. Damn, I love her. It feels great having all of the wetted surfaces below the wa- ter level carefully smoothed out, and even the slightest interference with the water flow eliminated. Her is so smooth it is like having another motor below. Having this nice continuous breeze filling the headsail, we decided not to raise the main. The stark white 150% genoa is set optimally for this broad reach. It can handle a wide range of wind strengths and angles. This sail set is easy to control, such that it makes us comfortable. From the of the 52-foot to the and splayed out along the rail, this sail began to move Finesse along. In races, we do much better on a reach , screaming along with the help of the mainsail. Yes, there was a destination, but no, there was no need to hur- ry. The float-plan, which was only in our mind, was dinner at the famous Abaco Inn on Elbow Cay. Hunger was beginning to catch up with us after such a beautiful afternoon. At the end of the day-sail, all sails secured, we powered into Hope Town Harbor through a sea as flat as glass. Binnie and I became aware of the subtle sounds and stares emanating from the other watercraft at . We perceived approval from the waves and smiles from others of the cruising community. Here in the Abacos, time moves to a gentle, more personal, beat. With their glasses held on high, boaters paid homage to that old calypso line, “and the rum is good any time of year.” What a scene meets the eye. This magnificent anchorage, full of happy skippers, dominated by the justly fa- mous candy-striped lighthouse came into view. Feel the air, the temperature, the loose and free feeling like you can leave here at any minute, and discover the next islands to reach right over these trees. I love it. Own- ing Finesse stirs my feelings and rattles my excitement to no end, especially when you have to sneak all 34 feet of her in a tight place like this, having a limited arc of swing without becoming a neighborhood nuisance – or worse. After we had radioed into the Abaco Inn and secured our reservations for the next evening, we anchored. Now, here we are, snuggled up for the night, listening to the soft sounds of multiple hulls seemingly whisper- ing to each other. They are like a bunch of old women with almost constant evening jabber. You’ll notice they never quit. Sometimes I could swear I understood about what they are gossiping or complaining. Proba- bly, some of them are cranky about how tired they are after today’s thankless choirs. The evening hull talk finally diminished to almost quiet and unmistakenly the most peaceful, gentle rocking that you can only get while floating even in an energy-charged hull like Finesses’. Standing in the , a slight, unmistakable smell of something good cook- ing lingers in the air over the water. It reminds me of why we are here, and it’s working. We have been to Hope Town before and love the Abaco Inn. As they themselves advertise, “We have a reputation throughout the Abacos as one of the finest dining experiences in the Out Islands.” Perched on the ridge that forms the backbone of this long, narrow island, this establishment has an excellent reputation, not only in the Bahamas but in the Americas and even in Europe. Take a look at the map of Elbow Cay. The Inn is halfway down the island, and you have to leave your boat up at the north end near the bay. You ride in their van down an unbelievably rough road that is full of potholes and scary edges. Getting in, I had that almost indistinguishable feeling that you get when you have just stepped onto a ride at the carnival – and you don’t know whether to trust it or not. All that and you get a driver that wants to im- press you on how much faster he can make it than he did the last time. In fi- Elbow Cay, Bahamas nally getting there, I was feeling a little concerned about the return trip – if we get the same driver. The Inn is a perfect picture, a quaint wooden square building with a large outside deck on one side with plenty of tables. This place is here for an obvious purpose –feeding many happy, talk- ing, and laughing people. It seems like wood can a bit of the history of past moments, even sounds. I actually wore the dinner jacket that I had packed. Now I have that comfortable feeling that you get after a quick shower, a glass of wine, and some intimate conversation with a few familiar sailing buddies. Before we got seated for dinner on this roofless deck area, I be- came aware of the faint smell of cooking and the slight indistin- guishable murmur of talking at other tables with an occasional break of interrupting soft laughter. Even with this perfect scene, I caught myself wondering if Finesse was alright. In keeping with the theme of Don’s story, a sensuous memory of time past, it is time to reflect on what this collection of fiber- glass, metal, and sailcloth came to mean to him. Put a thumb- tack on Hope Town and return with him to the day, years earli- er, when he first came to own Finesse. When I acquired this craft, even though I was happy and excited – I wasn’t aware of what a massive part of my life, it would be. I’ve been sailing and racing for years, from surfboards to 46 footers. However, S/V Finesse in home waters owning a rig of this size, it was virgin territory. I’ll never forget how I felt, considering that I had had only a one-time sailing experience on her with the seller to display her in deep water, and now, she was mine for the first time. With a few friends, I was leaving the dock for real, with my new “machine,” as I jokingly called her. Note well the transition from machine to lady Finesse. I first picked her up at her original dock in Ft. Lauderdale. To me, these were strange waters, a new pier, and I suspected that there wasn’t much clearance below the and . I started the diesel and, with some trepidation, shifted into forward. The first thing I had to watch out for was her draft of 5½ feet. The second would be negotiating all of the bridges and traffic between here, a location far into the interior of Ft. Lauderdale’s New River, and home in Lighthouse Point. Her position at this time, close to the dock, was in pretty shallow water. This meant that there was maybe a foot below her keel, limiting my horizontal turn- ing area. I drew a breath of relief when I slowly and carefully cleared Binnie & Don the site and anything substantial below the surface of these unfamiliar waters. I’m clear! Finally, after all of the negotiating and considering, I am responsible for what happens now to my new sailing vessel. It’s a new kind of feeling, the start of the voyage in my mind from an inanimate ob- ject to a lady. Finesse already had her name, and I wasn’t about to rename her. I thought that name was per- fect. It sounded like the method that I intended to use with her – together. Little did I know at this time that later she would exceed all my expectations. I learned quite a bit from my first hours at the helm. The hum of her powerplant assured me that she would take care of me as long as I treated her well in return. I got another reassuring lesson from her as I approached the first bridge on the New River. The throttle, barely cracked, produced low RPMs, yet she was knifing through the water with excellent speed, perhaps too much. I had to keep looking to check if a powerboat had gotten too close behind me, making it impossible for me to turn this 34 feet around if I needed to before I got too close to the bridge. Putting her in reverse only means that you have to rev up to high RPMs to open the blades of the folding prop and have any effect slowing the boat. I couldn’t believe how fast she was going without any help. My first thought was, “If she does this with hardly any effort – she’s bound to be fast!” I made a quick 180°, she turned on a dime, and I felt calm again with all the time that I needed. Being fast when I picked her up is one thing. Keeping her fast involves a bit of “sweat equity.” Periodically, we remove her from her natural habitat and place her “on the hard.” Here is my regimen. I carefully smooth out everything below the waterline, applied anti-fouling paint, and sand the hull with wet/dry sandpaper, al- ways horizontally in the direction of water flow, until the slightest paint drool or other imperfection vanishes. I treated every little bump like it was my enemy, even in the hard to reach parts of the folding prop, which folds into a bullet shape for unobstructed water flow while un- derway. “Smooth like a pool table” means speed! I knew from experience that some people don’t think it makes much differ- ence about a few barnacles below the waterline. Still, for years I knew the real importance of this in close racing, and I have ap- plied it to every boat that I have owned – even on every one of my one-meter radio-controlled models! It is time to pick up the Bahamas yarn once again. After dinner at the Abaco Inn, we survived the van ride back to the harbor. As we usually do, we moved our “home” closer to the middle of the anchorage. As Binnie and I sat in the cockpit in the early Harbor view with Elbow Reef Lighthouse evening, my mind kept replaying the events of the day and the history of this storied port. You can see, feel, and read the history here. In the harbor, the past is right in front of you. Hope Town, literal- ly the town of hope, may go back to Christopher Columbus. This famous anchorage is where yachts have stopped for centuries, mostly to avoid approaching storms. Even Finesse has hooked her anchor tangs over the monstrous that cross the bottom in both directions for good, dependable anchoring. The candy-striped lighthouse is a surprising projection. You have to look again to believe that this sizeable bright structure is real projecting above the hundreds of tiny native buildings and anchored boats. As you can see in the picture, this landmark has many boats at her foot, as if to pay homage. Its construction in 1865 was not looked upon as a good thing because it was going to warn mariners of the landmass, and the locals would lose the value of wrecks that occurred on these islands quite frequently. Today the lighthouse is welcomed by all, native and foreign. HISC members climb, at least once, the winding metal stairs to see the view from the top. I remember one seven-year-old girl who got the fright of her young life when the door at the top opened up onto the circular deck. You are hanging in space, and everything is down. When I anchored Finesse here a few years ago, I thought I was lucky that my anchor didn’t hang up on the substantial anchoring chains, making it necessary to dive and free it. In the harbor, you have a distinct feeling, with all of the other many boats anchored around you, and that high and bright lighthouse in front of you; it’s a rerun of a historical movie of a bygone day. It’s beautiful to be here, and people have been doing this for cen- turies. I’ve always thought that this anchorage was the perfect mariner’s meeting place. It is a conglomeration of diverse personalities in an unbelievable array of boats that can often be surprising. If you are not in a hurry, you can spend a lot of social time just moving around this bay, talking and visiting with skippers. If you think about it, this location is the perfect mariners meeting place in these islands. In the morning, I had an interesting talk with a nearby skipper and discovered that he had been in these islands the year before when I was here. I refused the offered beer because it was too early, and I was getting pretty anxious to get going – we had a lot of water to cross. [Editor’s note: a Heineken in the morning is what Pat and I call “Dutch Breakfast.”] After cranking the “Iron Jenny,” I ran it for just a few minutes until I was far enough along in the channel. While a motor is necessary, we are here for the wind, so we unfurled the 150% headsail. We were starting to heel slightly, and there were those faint, but familiar gurgling sounds that meant you were really moving. With just the two of us, the large Genoa jib was a blessing, and it was enough to be all that we would need for a while in this steady air. The day was so perfect. We were, once again, graced with the same cotton white clouds over azure water. It is a backdrop that expresses the precious gift of freedom, going anywhere we chose and as far as we wanted in this vast expanse of water powered only by this gentle wind. It’s the song of centuries, and we are reliving every minute of it. In her quiet contentment with her book, Binnie was snuggled into the cockpit cushions making it seemingly all-encompassing – and that could distract my attention. But for now, comfort was the order of the day. We had comfort with Finesse. Binnie had her favorite book, and I had all those lines that I could play with, re-position, and trim. With miles to go yet, I was going to have fun, making our lady go fast. My thoughts were; how can you beat this? And with a bump in wind speed, I opened the mainsail. What a beautiful set! A little trimming and our sails were pulling perfectly. And, just like that, we were off to our next port of call. On a long leg, you can get a few things done while watching the string of islands glide by to our south. I should have paid more attention; they were moving slowly now! Something was not quite right. As you remember, we have a two-bladed folding prop. When you need it to fold flat for racing, or just plain faster sailing, you have to set the shaft so that the blades are hor- izontal and opposite from each other. Then they drift together in a bullet shape under speed. Something need- ed adjustment. I asked Binnie to hold the wheel while I went below to set the shaft. We began to increase our speed over the bottom, and I fell into that “racing” groove again. It always happens – but it is a passion for me. Bin has said I would race a seagull if I had a chance. Our destination across the bay was miles away; we were cruising again.