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 transom 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 hull 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 top of the 52-foot mast to the deck 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 anchor. 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 cockpit, 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 hold 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 rudder and keel. 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.