This is an excerpt from the journals of Sloyd McAninch of a sea voyage
aboard the Endevour 32 sloop "Joy Too" from Jacksonville, Florida to the Turks
and Caicos. All text is copyrighted.
April 28, 1985 in the Atlantic, Lat. 30"10' N. Long. 80"33' West,
Somewhere off St. Augustine, Florida
We left today, Bon Voyage. Last
night after writing, I had more grief from Ed. He criticized me for talking
incessantly, jabbering meaninglessly, and constantly interrupting. In two
hours I said less than 25 words of this discourse, mostly two or three word
sentences such as "Know thyself" and "What's happening now?". He asked the
opinion of the skipper, who said "Ed, you talk too much.". My frustration was
high, how do you tell someone you are not talking except by doing so? I went
to bed, put on my headphones with "Koyannisqatsi" and cried for a half hour.
My loss is deep, my gain shallow. This morning we were up at dawn and Bob's
good friends showed up to wave goodbye. Pat was there and we had a private
chat about Ed. I said "I must remember, my strength is as the strength of ten,
because my heart is pure." We cut the mooring lines and cast off to the pop of
champagne corks, the crew drinking a toast to our trip, the captain's eyes
full of tears. Ed asked Bob, "No regrets?" and he said no, but the tears
sprang afresh. So after motoring six hours out of the St. John's River, we are
at sail and at sea. I can glance out the port hole and see nothing but water
and sky. Making about 4 knots in a westerly wind, we are watching the world go
by. Ed has been good, only bitched at me once, maybe things will work.
Whatever, we are on our way. Fair winds bless us, Pat promised to pray for us,
we have left at last and are on our way.
April 29, 1985 Lat. 29" 45.40' N. Long. 81" 16.82' West, Somewhere off
Cape Canaveral, Florida
After a wild first night, I'm finally bronzing my buns on the foredeck,
uninhabited beach to the west, open ocean to the east. Today started off hot
and sultry, motoring along to charge the batteries and fix the jammed jib. My
first watch last night, we were clipping along near 6 knots, Black George the
autohelm doing the steering, when I took over from the skipper. About 20
minutes later, I had the feeling things were out of control when the boat
jibed, backsheeting the jib and knocking everything loose down below. Ed and
Bob came up, and we did what needed to be done, me approaching the panic zone.
I think we jibed twice more before we got things under control. We reefed the
main and tried to take in the jib, but it jammed, so we dropped the mainsail
and were still doing 6 knots on the jib alone. While trying to tie ten square
knots on the swinging boom in a tossing sea in the dark, I found myself
chanting Hare Krishna mentally to keep from panicking. Funny how one's
personal resources come in handy. I went to sleep for a few hours until my
next watch at 4 a.m.. When I came out there was lightning and a strong wind,
the skipper said "Foul weather gear" as there was spray. It was spooky how the
"Joy Too" sailed herself, in the slot with Black George on a diet as he ate
the batteries. With one finger on the helm she talked to me till dawn. Just
after my watch a big pod of porpoises came alongside, at least a hundred or
so. At noon the Skylab Space Shuttle lifted off and we had a ringside seat for
a perfect launch. Now the wind has picked up and spray doused the sheets I was
trying to dry. All in a day's sail, from panic to boredom and back.
May 1, 1985 Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
We arrived at the marina 11 a.m., after 400 miles and 74 hours at sea.
Yesterday was rough, so much I almost got seasick, but I took a Bonine and
watched the shore with the wind and salt spray in my face until it passed. We
sailed most of the way on main or jib alone. I enjoyed the night watches after
the first night, alone at the helm of the boat, keeping her on course by the
compass, watching the sky, moon, and stars, scanning the horizon for the
lights of other vessels, and listening to tapes or late night D.J.'s on my
headphones. There is that living close to the edge, where the slightest slip
of awareness can bring disaster, when life is at its finest. There is a
richness to sailing the ocean, a constant demand for mastery that brings out
the best in all, and is not to be scoffed at. Which leads me to my next
question, should I continue? The odds are good that I will, but the doubts
remain if I can partake of these riches of the universe with a compainion
(deliberate misspelling) who bitches, belittles, criticizes, scoffs, and
generally takes every opportunity to rain on my parade. Ed's negativity is a
burden on this vessel, place him in any situation, even the ideal, and he will
complain. This must be dealt with, or my potentially perfect experience will
drag with the weight of Sisyphus.
May 2, 1985 Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
I do believe in magic, miracles, and a greater power. Once I supply my
strength to do what must be done, the universe kicks in the boosters and
syncronicity is the name of the ineffable (huh!). What happened: I decided not
to suffer, not to be a martyr, and my course was plain. At the crew meeting I
stated flatly I was leaving and would not sail with Ed's attitude. Not being
able to change him, I could only cover my act, and I would not go on a boat
with him treating me the way he does. He made no offer to change. My resolve
was firm, and the captain knew it so he made a tough, but right decision, and
ordered Ed off the boat. Ed ran for the restroom, and in the breathing space I
shook hands with the skipper. He said it would not be easy but we would try to
sail the "Joy Too" ourselves. I asked if I could take a walk for an hour, down
to the beach, and I did. Walking on the beach I spotted a man struggling to
climb on a windsurfed, and having a hard time because of fatigue. I shouted to
him, "Do you need any help?" and he asked me to take the sail. We got to
talking and after I told him what was going down with me, he said he and his
lady were looking to crew on a sailboat. He had experience, both had money,
passports, shots, etc. Bob J. and Jackie are super people from Nevada, we
talked to the skipper and now they are crew. Yahoo! So when we get the Sat-nav
working we can leave the country, very soon. This now promises to be the trip
of a lifetime. Thank you God and company!
May 5, 1985 Sunday Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
This slip wears old, the pleasure of sailing, yes, but at $28 a day I
cannot afford the snobbery. Friday night I went out, walking for the lack of
wheels. Near Federal Highway I ran into Bob J. and Jackie on bicycles, and Bob
J. loaned me his. Went to the Everglades Bar, but the person I spoke to did
not know where Jacksonville was, so I left. Rode to the C.B.C. on Broward
Boulevard and met Mel, a Jamaican bank teller. We caroused the evening away,
slipping and sliding, dancing in the nude, embracing philosophy and each
other. People in South Florida lack patience, and substitute nervous activity
for calm determination, but I knew that when I lived here before. It was my
show, a happy right on time, and with a bit of encouragement Mel got the most
from the night. Back at the boat, Bob J. and Jackie came over for showers and
the bike, we went to the hospital to see the skipper. He gave me the car, and
I went shopping for a battery, Merck Manual, and granola. Rested up, later I
went to Tacky's, cruising those who would cruise me. Met Mark from Margate,
and we went back to the boat. I expected more from him, especially after I
laid down the line at the bar. Alas, say it only for ships in the night, say
it only in street light whispers, takes a lot to be honest and fun both, the
trick is in the mirror, it's all done with mirrors. Only one thing mars my
wild Ft. Lauderdale weekend, I keep calling Bob E. but there's no answer. Yes,
you can get all the flesh you want and more, but there's nothing like the
heart.
May 6, 1985 Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
Captain Bob checked out of the hospital today, pissed off that in three
days they had done nothing for him. I ran short on sleep, as I went out to
C.B.C. last night. Saw Mel again, he was talking to an articulate and sleazy
young hustler, who touted the benefits of cocaine over running. Wandered the
halls and grottos of the bath, steamy dark niches and windows where one could
watch the bed antics of others. I danced and worked out, working up a sweat,
and Mel found me hard to leave. I had to push away gently the crude and rude,
but got to talk with Dick and we exchanged massages in the room with a window.
He surprised me by inviting me to his house, and I surprised him by accepting.
He is a good man, the cigarette smoke is not me, but I was glad to make two
out of three a plus in Ft. Lauderdale. He gave me his number and I called him
to thank him for the evening. He wanted me to come over tonight, but there is
enough to please me. The skipper is drunk and needs a friendly ear, I'm not
missing sex, I'm missing Bob. E. When I talked to him last night at Dick's, he
was drunk and worried at the face of death in his life . . . I just talked
with him for an hour, our last phone call. Mortality lies heavy on us, he
observed that all the people on the "Joy Too" are searching. The screams of
the bar in the background remind me of the variety, the paths we take are
laced with problems and spice, at the helm a toast to life itself.
May 10, 1985 North Bimini Island, Bahamas
We made it! My first passport stamp, my first island off the continent, my
first foreign country in a long time. Backing up, Monday our crew of Bob and
Jackie set a deadline of Tuesday midnight, so Tuesday I packed, shopped, and
stowed quite industriously, until Bob and Jackie announced they would not have
it together until Wednesday at 11 a.m. I called Dick but he was sick, so the
next morning Bob and Jackie didn't get done what they had wanted to do, but
they showed up just in time. We left motoring out into the ocean, but Black
George died, so we came back and tied up at the police docks. Skipper, Bob,
and Jackie called a cab and left me to watch the boat. This time Bob and
Jackie scored a Casio keyboard, Skipper got Bob's autohelm (Georgia), and
Ann-Marie and Angel, Skipper's sister and niece came by. We were finally
ready, got some sleep and left the USA at 3 a.m. Thursday morning, May 9.
Skipper and I had first watch until early dawn, then when I woke we were out
of sight of land. My first time that far out to sea, empty horizon all around.
The sea got clearer, deeper, and cleaner, despite all our worries we sighted
land about 5 p.m., and yes, it was Bimini! The sand bars are the most
brilliant turquoise blue, the water crystal clear. The onshore ambiance is
definitely different, somewhat dilapidated and trashy. The people are friendly
but inured to Miamians, and speak with a Bahamian dialect of English. In some
people it makes for a charming lilt to their speech, in others garbling their
words into incomprehensibility. Everything in the stores is roughly twice what
it cost in the States, except for straw hats made here in the Bahamas. To us
we toast, and our voyage.
May 12, 1985 Lat. 25" 47.20' N Long. 79" 01.89' W On the Grand Bahama Bank
somewhere between Bimini and the Berry Islands
Suntan serenade, ah, this is at last getting to be a relaxed cruise.
Jackie and I played music last night, "Yellow Submarine" until the Illusion
came too close to Joy Too. We didn't leave yesterday because it rained till
noon, so we pulled away from the slip that cost money and anchored in the
harbor. Jackie tried windsurfing with my instruction and did very well for her
first time. The wind was light and the water clear, a nice day for lolling
around. My favorite time was the afternoon before in the rain, skin diving off
the point, exploring the nooks and crannies of the rocky reef. It was like
swimming in an aquarium, the fish swarmed about me in schools, some electric
blue, some yellow and black striped sheepshead, some a transparent coral flesh
pink with big black eyes. There were sea urchins and starfish, spotted rock
fish and patches of coral and waving sea fans. I hardly noticed the pouring
rain, yet it was so refreshing to get the salt washed off when I emerged. As I
walked back in swimsuit and flipflops, delighting in the rain, a tourist said
from his shelter, "Even a dog has sense enough to get out of the rain, but
that's O.K., you just keep on walking." I smiled, saying nothing, and did.
Just now I spotted my first shark, an eight foot long hammerhead cruising past
the boat. Oh, this Grand Bahama Bank, the brilliant color of the sea, endless
miles of water only twenty feet deep. Such vastness at hand.
May 15, 1985 Great Harbor Cay, Berry Islands, Bahamas
Monday we motored all day as the sea was as calm as glass. Rounded Great
Sturrup Cay and dropped anchor on the south side, next to a tiny rock and
bushes island about fifty feet wide called Snake Cay. I cooked squash
stroganoff, but Jackie and Bob were late, brought back in a boat by a guy that
lived on the island, who had gotten them drunk on homemade raisin wine. The
next day all of us explored the island after I went for a morning windsurf and
skindive. We met Ron, who watches the electronics for RCA and likes to kill
sharks. Then we went to Bertram's Bay, named after a commodore buried there in
1834. It is a day stop for a cruise ship line, all fixed up with sand, palm
trees, picnic tables, snorkeling, sunfishes, volleyball nets, shuffleboard,
etc. It was the quintessential tropic isle, the dive instructors who lived
there assured us the next day would be a big party as a ship with 700
passengers arrives. There seem to be only three places of access on the island
as there is thick undergrowth. The third is the light, automated so the
lighthouse keepers house is in disrepair. Bob and Jackie showed up about dusk
hungry and tired, so I fixed dinner unplanned. Skipper asked Bob to stow his
windsurfer, but instead he rigged it, getting ready to sail about 10 p.m. This
pissed the skipper off, as he is responsible for the lives of the crew, and
Bob is a poor windsurfer at best, it is a moonless night in shark infested
waters. I told Bob it was foolish as sharks feed at night, and Jackie asked
him not to, but he wouldn't listen. Finally the skipper blew up and very
loudly forbid him to windsurf at night. This pissed off Bob, who felt his
freedom was infringed upon. The skipper yelled at him again to stow the
sailboard, and I helped Bob haul it onboard. Then I had a talk with the
skipper about anger, and got him to talk to Bob in a level tone of voice. The
next morning (today) we raised anchor and motored around the islands to head
for Bullocks Harbor. After we set sails I fished enroute and I caught my first
fish! I gutted, cleaned and filleted it, put some on the hook for Jackie. She
caught a fish right away, but instead of reeling it in she unreeled and lost
the fish and line. We tried for Bullocks Harbor but the entrance was too
shallow and seas rough, plus the anchor would not hold, so we went to Great
Harbor Marina. They had to hand crank the swinging bridge open to let us in.
We took showers and went shopping in town. Prices were high, to be expected,
but we splurged on some delicious grapes. Bob and Jackie took off, the skipper
and I walked back to the boat, catching a ride the second half. I am enjoying
the trip and appear to get along with everyone. There is dissention between
Bob and the skipper. I feel like I'm getting pulled into a domestic role, as
I'm the most competent and creative cook aboard. Jackie adds some nice
touches, like asking at dinner each day what our high point of the day was.
Oh, yes, the fish was good, despite the oven blowing up halfway through and
covering the pan with black soot. Jackie says I am the peacemaker, please,
it's my trip too. Sailing is a Joy Too.
May 20, 1985 Chub Cay, Berry Islands, Bahamas
Leaving Great Harbor we headed southwest across the shoals, but ran
aground. I jumped overboard and hauled the anchor out while the others winched
in the line. The boat leaped forward when free, and I ran and grabbed the rail
with one hand and the anchor with the other. It was a wild ride for a minute,
walking my hand forward as the skipper hauled in the anchor, I got aboard at
last and we threaded our way out of the shoals to blue water. Then we motored
north around Great Sturrup Cay and sailed down the outside to Holmes and
Hoffman Cay, pulling into an anchorage between them and Devil's Cay. The next
morning was a super day, I played "Sunny Skies" at nine for the late sleepers,
inflated my air mattress and paddled ashore. On the beach I found a fender and
big lizards. I explored some, went skindiving, rigged the windsurfer and
blasted up and down the bay. At noon we left. I played guitar and sang, We ran
aground at Little Harbor, not much of a place. The next morning we motored two
miles south to the anchorage between Frozen and Alder Cay. A beautiful spot! I
gave Jackie a skindiving lesson, and convinced the skipper to stay two nights.
Took the skipper out the inlet of coral reefs and he bobbed along in lifevest,
mask, and fins, the tide sweeping him back in over the teeming schools of
fish. The day between Frozen and Alder was real pleasure. I windsurfed a bit
in the light air, then gave the skipper a windsurfing lesson, and Jackie her
second. She did real well and crossed the bay a couple of times. After lunch
at slack tide I swam out to the reef and spotted three big (four feet across)
leopard rays and a shark. Got behind the shark and followed him. Got the
skipper and the two of us toured the reef and holes, spotting the rays again
but not the shark. Back at the boat Jackie and I rowed ashore in the dinghy
and climbed the hill on Alder to the pile of rocks with notes in bottles. We
talked, then went down to greet Bob J. and Marty returning from successful
skindiving. Marty came to dinner of grouper and snapper. Early this morning I
went windsurfing in a fresh breeze for a good while, visited two beaches and
did not get my swim trunks wet. When we raised anchor the line got caught in a
prop, I had to don mask and snorkel and get it loose. Then upon hoisting, Bob
and Jackie made a tangle of lines, Bob wanted to cut the line rather than
untangle. Below I was cleaning the galley when the fuel line to the stove
broke, flooding the cabin sole with kerosene. Yuck. That, rough seas, and a
foul mood made me seasick in the mind, sick of being at sea. We are now at
Chub Cay Marina, two days from Nassau. Bob and Jackie might leave.
May 21, 1985 Andros Island, Bahamas
Caught in the middle between the unrealized self-realization, the feeling
and the pain. What is coming down is gingerly treading, razor sharp
differences cutting to the step. "Beware of Captain Bligh", I whispered in
Bob's ear, and the smallest things explode into irrational anger. There are
two views here, and I can see both but must adhere to one to survive. The
ocean is deep, our crossing filled with inspiring breaths. The positions are
set, one stated but blizzards in Nebraska knocked the lines down. The kitty is
empty, the skipper wants each of us to toss in $50. No problem for me but Bob
and Jackie plan to leave tomorrow. Will they or what will happen? The skipper
holds the power, we are on Andros, 35 miles of ocean to Nassau. There are many
their possessions aboard. It is a dilemma for them, but I am put in the
position of (?) the contributing factor or entangled participant. I can see
both sides - Bob and Jackie feel $100 for one day is piracy - Skipper feels
they have eaten and shared the boat, it's time to share expenses. The wrap is
porous and shaky, the song is for deaf ears. I touch everyone here yet my
touch, my real touch is withheld. I do see a way, it grows strong and bright.
I'll keep it for the moment right. The final vote is not tabulated.
May 23, 1985 Nassau, New Providence Island, Bahamas
Yesterday morning was Valiums for Jackie, indignancy for Bob, and anger
for the Skipper. The agreement was made, Bob and Jackie chipped in and we left
at ten. The crossing was uneventful and edgy, with many private conversations
held under the shield of the motor noise. Jackie is a very neat person,
together in a loving environment, but fragile in a pinch. Bob treads too
loudly, beats his path through the existing flow, and delicacy is lost. The
skipper is set, seeing only his narrow range, not realizing the house of
mirrors he blunders in. And I, the fool, dance on air to the tune of my
devising, unacknowledged dangers have no effect on my blithe path, the hound
of yesterday at my heels herds me into the moment. So here we are, anchored in
Nassau harbor last night, the skipper fuming at Bob and Jackie playing
ping-pong at the Club Med. He was cranky this morning, barking orders thrice,
we all scrubbed down the "Joy Too" inside and out. About four p.m. we
finished, after Jackie and I swapped techniques for giving head and sat with
Bob to discuss patronizing and the desire to change. I walked downtown to the
Straw Market, pricing things only. Nassau is definitely different, a foreign
country in effect and feel. Many blacks with their lilting speech, also
whites, who look at me (the non-tourists) with strange eyes. I saw two white
kids popping with soul and I thought a black man on a back street was going to
slap hands with me. Got to be quick on my feet especially on the street, all
the traffic is on the left.
May 25, 1985 Nassau, New Providence Island, Bahamas
Bob and Jackie left this morning, a good leaving, they are crewing back to
Ft. Lauderdale. Jackie said, "And where have you been all night?" I smiled
like the cat that ate the canary. Ah, what a life! I woke to the sound of a
canary, the cockatoo Lulu scratching on her perch, the orange sun rising over
the ocean, the air conditioner humming, and the Irish setter wanting out.
Eddie is a fine man of the 15% white Bahamians. Tasteful, considerate, good
looking, well traveled, sophisticate, urbane, 44, and rich, I look no further
in Nassau. Went to the Village Pub last night, arriving at 8:30 found that the
nightlife starts at 11. Yesterday I bought gems, talked with a lunatic
woodcarver, shopped and stocked and rode with Dr. Feelgood. All the funny
things about being a gay American in Nassau, makes me wonder how much is
American and how much is Sloyd? Craig brings New York madness with him, Renee
will talk but not go home with Americans, Charles is lonely (oops) homely, but
to me luscious and demure. No, I'm not Marty Goldstein, a wrestler from San
Diego, Kevin. The thought of treasure maps crossed my mind, and exactly a
handle on the Island mentality, it's cool, dangerous, and easy. Best to sit on
it for better days, hot date tonight with Eddie, midnight.
May 28, 1985 Royal Cay, near Eleuthera, Bahamas
One month on board the "Joy Too". My date with Eddie turned out to be an
evening of Trivial Pursuit. His car was broken into and we flushed the thief
from under our host's bumper. I met Eddie's friends Tony and Douglas, and
their guests Dwayne, Domonique, and Jimmie. It was after four when we got to
Eddie's house, and he was beat. The next morning we lazed around in the nude
after sex, cuddling and sharing our lives while watching the tropical storm
rage outside. Noon came and I went back to the boat. Because of the rain the
skipper decided not to leave that day, so we left Nassau the next. Motored to
Sandy Cay past Rose Island, enroute I could pick out Eddie's house on the
shore. Eddie is my plus of Nassau, without meeting him my visit would have not
been top drawer, plus Eddie made a gift of a crucial item we could not locate,
a small lamp chimney. Sandy Cay was small and picturesque, unfortunately
untouchable, ringed by "Keep Out" signs. I swam around the island, meeting a
nice young lady who fed me a curb she had just pried from a rock and squeezed
a lemon upon. I cooked dinner for the skipper and me last night, and most
likely will every night. Today we motored all day as we headed into the wind,
most uneventful. We passed the rusting hulk of a grounded freighter, and again
we are anchored in a harbor where the shore is off limits. It's quieter here,
and the skipper is much more mellow since Bob and Jackie left. I find more
personal space and private times with only one companion on board, and I can
easily handle the duties of crew. I notice my deafness more in my left ear,
and my contacts are mucusing up by early afternoon now. Frailties of this
mortal coil.
May 31,1985 Spanish Wells, St. George's Cay, off Eleuthera, Bahamas
At Royal Cay the skipper got drunk, last night I asked him why, and he
said he was depressed. The next day we motored to Spanish Wells, just outside
town we ran aground. Quick as a bunny Bradley Newbold shows up and relieves us
of $10 to get going again. He leads us to the anchorage, and Jack and Elaine
are there on the Ishalla. After we shop and the skipper calls the states, I go
over to visit Jack and Elaine during a rainstorm. Besides having common
acquaintances in Tallahassee, they live just up the Suwannee River from
Manatee. I told them of my adventures with our crews. They had heard a biased
story from Bob in Nassau. So the next day it rained, but we left after one for
Harbor Island. We turned down Bradley Newbold's offer to guide us for $90 and
threaded our way through the reefs. Dunmore Town is the Martha's Vineyard of
the Bahamas, an out of the way quaintness. We walked the pink sand beaches,
and I found a mop handle to make a fish spear. The next morning we filled up
with water at the government dock and left. Passing the easternmost rock we
struck a rock with a jolt, but no damage. At Ben Bay Beach we dropped anchor
and explored the caves in the palm trees, then I went skindiving with my new
fish spear and caught three grouper scales (it was close!). Up anchor one more
time and back here again, same spot in the crowded anchorage. I'm glad to have
suggested the stop in Ben Bay, to give us relief from these small inbred
Bahamian towns, the tidy pastel quaintness that gives one cause to rip off the
clothes and dive overboard.
June 2,1985 Current Island, north end of Eleuthera, Bahamas
Ah this is nice, more laid back and quiet. Yesterday we left Spanish Wells
at low tide, barely floating over the grassy bottom to get out. We motored to
Current Cut, a narrow and deep channel with a swift (6 knot) current. Just
through, we headed south and a power boat warned us away form the shallow just
in time. We ran aground but were turned around and motored off. Skipper wanted
to anchor there but I said no, the place had nothing to offer; swift current
to endanger swimming and no beach. So we went a mile south to this bay of two
beaches. I swam nude in the glassy bight, so calm the horizon melted, my eyes
astounded by the rising full moon. This morning I discovered the anchor loose
and set it. I went after fish in the reef and got 8 snapper scales. Also I
actually speared a fish, but it wriggled off the spear. After lunch I tried
again, getting more scales. I noticed all the large fish speeding rapidly past
me, then spotted a 5 or 6 foot shark, erraticly swimming with the fins going
up and down. Marty had warned me of such, so I swam backwards to the boat, my
little pigsticker a frail defense against such a creature. I made it and gave
up swimming for the day, my wounding of fish was probably what brought the
shark lurking. So I lie on the deck sunning, I nearly made two faces of the
Rubik's cube today, life is full of small victories. I urge the skipper to
learn to swim well, he misses so much just sitting on the boat.
June 5, 1985 Tranquility Bay, middle of Eleuthera, Bahamas
This place lives up to its name. Yesterday we motored from Hatchet Bay the
Bight was so rough and turbulent such that I was close to ill. So glad to see
this calm bay, with its glowing sandy shallows, empty beaches, and protected
water, that my stomach eased its queasy distress. We sailed to Hatchet Bay
from Current Island, the first time to raise sails in weeks. The trip was a
smooth downwind glide, topping three knots. The skipper had the spoon out, it
got grabbed by something big. Hatchet Bay has a small entrance blasted out,
inside at the anchorage were 15 sailboats. Not a place to incite excitement,
the boats were seeking a secure anchorage and company, I guess. During the
night about 3 a.m., some asses in a powerboat ran aground, then rowed over
into the midst of the anchorage and hollered for assistance, to no avail. I
was tempted to respond when the guy screamed, "Damnit, are you all deaf? Isn't
someone even going to tell me to stick it up my ass?" Yes, I was tempted. In
the morning he was the object of discussion among the sailors as I rowed for
bread, the shoreline was enhanced by the addition of a cabin cruiser on its
side. Back to here, I swam a good distance yesterday without fins, a nice
change. I got frightened by two barracuda, so I dashed to shore. This crystal
sea is not a swimming pool, and I am still nervy from spotting the shark. Last
night was windy, therefore bug free, so I stood on the foredeck and sang till
late. It's cooler now, breezier and I'm on my own. Sometimes I feel as if the
skipper lives through me, this I resist.
June 7, 1985 Cape Eleuthera, south end of Eleuthera Island, Bahamas
One hot day in June, we swam about the boat, frolicking like dolphins,
scrubbing the hull standing in the warm shallow sandy water. I was exorbitant
in underwater transferal, peering up at a sparkling blue sky rippling on the
surface tension above me. This plane of existence between air and sand is
about five feet, with a horizon of visibility around fifty feet away. In this
world I swim alone, unsure of my solitude, wary of the entrance of barracuda
or sharks. To flutter my feet is to fly, to windmill my arms is to cruise the
surface, and the thrill of excession is to upend my brown buns, toss my feet
skyward and dive till my chest brushes the ripples on the sandy bottom. This
watery universe belongs to me until I have need to breathe. - Today we scoured
the coral heads, my lookout needed to avoid the worst. Last night I visited
the "Cruise-Aider for Christ" from Duluth, Minnesota and sang songs with the
family of five, me secular, they hymns. The night before we invited Derek to
dinner, solo owner and builder of the Ashallah. He convinced us to drop by
Puerto Plata in the Dominican Republic, a cheap place to restock. Governor's
Harbor was a light delight, a minor pleasure of a two-aged town. The most
abundant population were sea urchins. Today is Labor Day in the Bahamas.
Skipper's foot is worse.
June 10, 1985 Little San Salvador Island, Bahamas
To turn the page of life, laugh a little and cry a tear. Two nights ago at
Point Eleuthera, I played Koyannisqatsi and cried through the first half. The
skipper and I sat in the dark while scenes from my life paraded in my mind.
Bob E.'s face was foremost, the way his shoulder felt in our last embrace, my
tears splashing on his skin. The memories rushed at me, a shark in dark
waters, they gnawed at my being with the teeth of time. The skipper asked me
why I cry, and although my answers were truthful, I felt I could not broach
the loneliness the two of us sail this boat in. He cried also, for similar
reasons, but he claims there is no one who wants him back, unlike I. My
stamina to continue is faltering, but it's a phase, there is no turning back
here. We sailed to Little San Salvador and anchored out of the swell. While
I'm giving the skipper diving lessons, the motor yacht, Sea Hunter, drops
anchor much too close. As we had seen them before, and known them to be a
noisy crew, we hauled anchor and moved, so now we rock in the swell and curse
the rudeness of the rich. I did get to tell their skipper that this was a nice
place until they got here, he also is helpless before the vagaries of the
owner (7000 gallons of diesel fuel - No matter, he owns the oil company).
Today we took the dinghy around to the north side and dove, now the skipper is
running a fever
. June 13, Thursday, 1985 The Bight, Cat Island, Bahamas
This is turning to yuck. Tuesday we left Little San Salvador, and a couple
of hours out I looked behind us and said, "Skipper, where's the dinghy?". The
dinghy was gone, gone, gone, and although we searched, it remained lost at
sea. Coming back from skin diving the skipper had tied it to the cleat,
obviously not very well. He had harangued me in the past for overdoing the
wraps on the cleat, and had made a point of saying that the dinghy rode best
at the end of its rope. The dinghy was new and cost $600 and now is gone. We
spent a few hours looking for it, but went on to Bennett's Harbor. At
Bennett's Harbor we did not go ashore, and although the guide book and
conditions recommended two tie points, the skipper just anchored. He then
proceeded to get drunk (with my permission) and questioned me about what was
the matter. He did not comprehend my answers, not a chance with half a bottle
of Jack Daniel's, but proceeded onward into my mental state, until I said,
"Hold, I will discuss this with you later". The frustration level is high, and
this is my problem, according to my beliefs. That night it rained at three
a.m., and when I woke to close the hatches, I also saw we had drifted around
with the tide and were in danger of going aground. I told the skipper, but he
was still drunk, so I went back to sleep. The next day we left Bennett's
Harbor without going ashore. We are running low on fuel, so I encouraged the
skipper to sail. Well he's pissed because there's a sandbar, and we have to
sail into the wind. I get irritated because he won't make the effort to get
the centerboard down, and he insists on starting the engine when we backsheet
the jib, rather than tacking. It's a long day and he misplaces us on the map
so we start the engine at five and motor to New Bight, where we anchor
offshore. At dawn a nasty storm comes out of the west, I have to argue with
the skipper about putting out a second anchor just in case, as we are 50 yards
off a rocky beach with a 20 knot wind blowing us toward it. He then after
breakfast gives me shit about leaving the bathroom cabinet open, (he's done
this before) this time I had my defense prepared, and could prove to him that
it was not me but him. I'm tired of this kind of shit. Then he insists we tie
up to the dock on the beach, but there's less than three feet at the end of
the dock. He wants to try it again at lower tide, and I insist he think
through some of the actions of today. I have to put him through a step by step
procedure of how to go ashore without a dinghy, what to do there and why. He
wants me to go with him, but I'm adamant about staying here. There's no need
for me to go except to hold his hand, and I'm tired of that, more so because I
cannot literally hold his hand. I am reading the stupid book he asked me to
read, I told him I don't recommend crap for other people to read. Jaysus!
June 14, 1985 Hawk's Nest Creek, south end of Cat Island, Bahamas
Trying too hard to do it all, I am now laying back and laying low.
Yesterday I walked up to the top of Mount Alvernia, the highest point in the
Bahamas, to the Hermitage. It's a cluster of stone buildings, built long ago
with loving care by Father Jerome, who made the place for solitude. I sat on
the stone seat he had made and looked at the amazing architectural grace and
harmony he had created. To the left a bell tower, joined by an arch to a
chapel diagonally attached to the living quarters, 2 1/2 rooms under 2 1/2
domes, then a columnaded breezeway leading to a food storeroom, all perched on
a rocky hilltop. The scale is of monolithic grandeur, the actual size tiny, an
amazing rightness of form balanced to the place. The touches are austere and
holy, latin and lasting, so very catholic from the stations of the cross
leading to the summit to the colored tiles set into the walls, giving sage
advice in a dead language. The peace of the place was accented by the calls of
the jungle birds, and the view could not be surpassed anywhere in these
islands. Truly the high point of Cat Island, a spot close to God, to negate
the worries of the world below and wonder of one's place in the universe. I
walked down, swam out to the boat and made dinner. I do try to keep my hand in
the skipper's enlightenment, for at worst in my self-interest. I told him of
my feelings about earlier incidents, and went on late into the evening
discoursing on the subatomic. Today on my suggestion, we raised the anchor
without starting the engine, and sailed to near here before we motored in. We
sail for the Exumas at three a.m. God bless us, please.
June 19, 1985 Wednesday Georgetown, Great Exuma, Bahamas
Where does it go? What is the reason? When does the fun start? Well, I got
here. We crossed Saturday with rough seas, and just before 5 a.m. had another
sailboat come very close, 100 feet away crossing our stern. I came close to
getting sick, but Bonine conquered the feeling. Into Elizabeth Harbor to dock
at Peace and Plenty, no mail. Dismal, dismal. We anchor out and sit there
Sunday. Some folks, Dan and Karen from "Our Tern", give me a ride in and we
talk. I get good advice, back at the boat the skipper calls on the VHF for a
dinghy and finds a seller. The next day, Happy from the "Orn" brings us a
dinghy so we go ashore. Shop and shop from on end of Georgetown to the other,
Skipper has an ice cream cone for lunch, no mail. Tuesday we do laundry and I
get a letter from Helen. I meet Shirley and Andrea from "Elea", who invite me
for socializing and music that evening. Ah, so nice to talk, talk, talk, but
where am I, it's obvious who. Went to the doctor today, $15 to have a nurse
look at my ear. The cassette arrived from Bob, and it's so good to hear his
voice. I had to listen in the pauses, loneliness upends the defenses. I wrote
him back saying just maybe I've had enough. I'm trying to get right with
myself. I talked with the skipper about it and he doesn't like the idea of me
leaving. Too much bandied about inside, no hugs, no touch, not enough loving
happening here. It could be close, just a cruise up and down the Exumas, it
could be so far away it will never show its face, I know what it is. The
handle I grasp in the dark will not speak my name, and all the good enoughs
are not good enough to catch the breath of passion I dare not breathe, or is
it that meaningless tropic ambience that fries men's brains into
aimlessness?
June 21, 1985 Summer Solstice Bell Island, in the Exumas, Bahamas Land-Sea
Park
The scars are weeping wide, on my most special of days my inner face
hides. I surreptitiously held up my hands to the sun at noon, and silently
prayed. Thanks given to the passage of another year, prayer of deliverance
through the next. Oh, the veil of sorrow is cloudy, this day of most light is
darkening, and all is not well. In the tilt of rough seas battles are fought
for balance, in the turn of fate, a tug of war for my precious existence. My
value to the skipper surpasses my value to myself, or his to me, in his eyes.
He seeks to forbid my departure, nessitating my escape, or foreswearing such,
swamping him in love or hate. Unthought of circumstances parade unforeseen,
and no pleasant alternative wrings the delight of days into a calculating
balance. This is the Exumas, endless rocky cays and surge, and yes, now I've
been here. I've partaken of the fruits of the sea, and the company I keep is
the difference grandly. To hold just one close would make this special day
right, but the distance requires such a spark to bridge the gap, all would
burst into flames from its power. There's a dare here, a challenge still, only
woe is going to survive and cheat me of my pleasure. This strange crop of the
vagabond burdens the reasons with chains of dependency, let us gather our
sorrows about and run for shelter. This is no condition to reap the harvest of
the wanderer, only to gain the warmth of the hearth, the home of love. On this
day of most light a sweet solstice to all.
June 25, 1985 Galliot Cay, Exumas, Bahamas
Feeling better, having had some time to think alone. The skipper's snores
rasp away, and I just meditated extra heavy. Looking at the map, San Juan is
700 miles away. I'm realizing the changes I've wrought run deep, there is no
backpedaling to a former state just to subsist. I'm approaching Georgetown,
approaching a decision, and the odds remain the same, the decision remains
unmade. Talk more with the skipper about how to achieve the right reasons for
the long line of indirect action. I'm not sailing out of guilt or free
spirited adventure, the former is a crock, the latter a lost dream. Setting
off again in misgivings is wearing thin, my doubts have gotten callused with
overuse. If only I could abandon my sensibility to demon rum, I'd numb myself
to the incongruent mis-mesh of my fit here. I'd waste my soul like so many
others in tropical rot, it's not my lot. Skipper mentioned his punishment,
this speeding through the Exumas, and I falter on the awash rock of his
unthought consequences. I wish to absolve myself of this burden of two lives,
mine is enough to bear. The sloops waltz through the archipelago, sails in the
distance so graceful, but each one holds a heart or two, some living and
learning, some aching and yearning. Has my road blindness set in, blinkers on
and mind filled with the scent of home? I know so, and cannot balance this act
with my feelings pierced by remorse. The choice remains obvious, even made the
execution will be difficult, who ever said it's easy? It's so hard.
June 28, 1985 Friday Georgetown, Great Exuma, Bahamas
Civilization of a sort. Made a decision to continue, bah. Turmoil has a
back door; heaving the easy over the edge says so much of what thoughts are
forefront. The skipper asked me what I was thinking, while I was rooting
through the remnants of vague masturbatory fantasies left over from last
night's dreams. I looked at him and said nothing, thinking there's nothing to
say. We spend money on second class food, and many miles to sail, starting
tomorrow. Tuesday I had a naked day from Galliot Cay to Lee Stocking Island
without putting my swim trunks on, although I wore a hat and shirt for sun
protection. We anchored in a cove of varied terrain and early morning some
natives paddled up in a power boat, out of gas. We gave them a bit to speed
off. Wednesday we returned to Georgetown and went in. I tried to call Bob, no
answer. Got flight information, and wrapped my heart in thoughts to decide.
Skipper's foot is worse, he tore open the heel walking the dinghy back when he
ran out of gas at Bell Island. It's infected, making two sores on one foot. He
did go to the quack Indian doctor on my urging, to get more penicillin. That
night we went to hear the band play, your standard rock orchestration, vaguely
country-western Bahamian, black musicians. The skipper sat alone the whole
evening. So after an afternoon here in Georgetown holding down the Peace and
Plenty bar with my guitar, there's something besides a boat in my framework,
but that's so inexclusive it's minimal. Onward to deal with my mind; floating
on the emotional ocean, you are what you sink.
July 1, 1985 Clarencetown, Long Island, Bahamas
I am bearing the burden poorly. We sailed from Georgetown Saturday, and
the skipper decides to change back to Battery 1, which has a shorted cell. As
expected the battery fails, so the fridge quits, one day out from stocked up.
Trash! We motor half the day and all a long day yesterday to get here. Last
night when we arrived around seven, we discovered a leak in the hull. Skipper
decides to do engine maintenance (since he's down there). I consider moving to
shore for the night, as the leak is rapid. We do find it in the head and fix
it. I start to cook dinner and the stove quits, out of fuel. As I had been
slightly seasick all day, this was the breaks. Roaming around the empty
corridors of my head, most of the doors are locked, I leave the bad ones
alone, and keep silent rather than fuss, but inside the bother builds. I count
the days to Puerto Rico. I feel like silted channels, the mud of the skipper's
thinking clogs my flow. The irritation continues, the push is on, just popped
some Bonine as we are going to sail all night and most of the day tomorrow to
skip Crooked Island and make northeast Acklin's Island. Today we waited hours
in the phone company so the skipper could call the USA. Two letters from me
most likely from Don Q., but will not get them until Puerto Rico. With the
wind in my face I sat under a causarina tree on the harbor beach, singing
softly to myself and prodding holes in the sand. This sourness cannot rest,
even though I must, the choice stinks. Knowing this I will most likely soon
lash out, my efforts to bring life to this voyage have festered and gone
rotten. Before the mast, with a lousy captain.
July 4, 1985 Atwood Harbor, Acklin's Island, Bahamas
Literally, it stinks! First off, we sailed at 6:30 p.m. July 1, toward
Crooked Island. All went reasonably well until 4 a.m., when the shackle broke
on the roller furling jib halyard. There was also a large freighter coming up
astern, I called the skipper up, we pulled the wet jib out of the water and
got it on deck. This was enough for me but not for the skipper, he insisted on
attempting to raise the roller furling jib in a 12 knot wind in the dark. I
soon saw this was not possible and told him so, but he ignored me and
screamed, "Give the engine more throttle!". Poor old engine was working its
best, I'd turn into the wind and he'd yell, "Fall off from the wind!", I'd
fall off and he'd scream, "Turn into the wind - More throttle!". I knew it was
not going to happen and was trying to figure out how to get the skipper to
quit, when the jib sheet tangled in the prop. Engine dies, and here we are at
4:30 a.m., 17 miles from land, no jib, no engine, and to my dismay, I find the
line has also tangled in the rudder. So we spin around and yank the rudder
loose, the skipper wants to start the engine to see why it overheated, at this
I get tough, enough stupidity. We turn everything off except the mast light
and wait for dawn, just barely drifting one knot. About 8 a.m. I go overboard
with harness and mask on to untangle the propeller in a seaway. I'm super
scared, the blue below the hull lacks a bottom, the boat lurches in the
swells, every distant wave obscures a shark's fin, and on top of that, it's
hard work. The engine was going fast when it tangled, and the jib sheet is
strong. It broke several times, and I had to cut the sheet with a knife a half
dozen times to get a handle on the tangle. At last the prop is free and no
jaws bite my legs off, I climb aboard. Then we put up the storm jib (which
should have been the one we put up in the night, it can be raised by hand in a
wind) and we can make 2 to 3 knots with it and the main, and have the engine
as reserve. But we are trying to beat upwind, and by noon we realize we cannot
make land before dark under sail, so we motor to Crooked Island. We anchor in
the lee, and as we anchor the depth sounder quits. It's 3 p.m., and we agree
to nap until 6 p.m. and have dinner, once we fall asleep we are dead to the
world until 7 a.m. the next day. So then work begins to get things fixed. The
transducer for the depth sounder has broken away from the hull, and requires
epoxy glue to stick it back. In Ft. Lauderdale I pointed out some epoxy to the
skipper in a store, he said, (and still says) "I never use that stuff". The
transducer was not glued with epoxy in the first place. As he doesn't like
epoxy glue or duct tape, we ended using Elmer's glue and scotch tape, which
doesn't work. Pisser. He climbs the mast to replace the shackle, when he
climbs down he tells me to always use a bowline knot to tie a sail. We furl
the jib, about then it all falls down, he hadn't tied a bowline. This time the
halyard falls also. We decide to get a move on anyway but the key breaks off
in the ignition. Not our day! So we take that apart and fix it, put in the
spare key and motor all day to Atwood Harbor. The blankets and spare linen
have turned into mildew rot, drying them stinks. I walk two miles into
Chesters for diesel, none there, walk two miles back. At least the roller
furling jib is back up, but the cockpit is splattered with mildew gluck, the
cabin is approaching entropic overload, and my spirits are low to say the
least. Have to make bread, tomorrow we sail to the Playa Cays, last stop
before Mayaguana where we bid adieu to the blasted Bahamas. I was so sad last
night, thinking how this could be a nice trip with decent company.
July 7, 1985 Abraham's Bay, Mayaguana Island, Bahamas
Welcome to the world championship screwups. Despite an edgy talk, the
skipper and I still argue. Inanities and touchiness are the watchwords. Once
again (third time) the skipper forgot to loosen the helm before turning on the
auto helm. We sailed all day to get to the Playa Cays, lousy anchorage with
lots of swell, poor sleep in a rocking boat. Yesterday I walked alone around
to the other side of the cay, nude and windblown. Had to return to this poor
old boat with the skipper still unchanged, it's depressing. We left at 5:30
p.m. and sailed southeast, rough seas and 20 mph winds. Storm jib up, watches
all night, got to the southwest tip of Mayaguana at 6 a.m. Oh, at 5:30 a.m. I
jumped up thinking the radar reflector had dropped and at 9 a.m. down it fell.
So we have to put that back up but it's minor. We pulled into the shallow
anchorage at Abraham's Bay at 1 p.m. The skipper didn't notice that the
centerboard was down, and we backed down on the anchor. He pulled it up,
remarking how easy it came, I said it probably broke, he said, "No, it's up.".
I checked and sure enough the centerboard is down and sitting on the bottom,
with the cable jammed way up in the housing because the skipper pulled it up
there. Screwed! So tomorrow, (we are too tired today) we (meaning me) have to
fix it, and the radar reflector, and the lifeline, and the sail cover, and
check out with customs. Bullshit, this I am weary of. P.S. I'm breaking out in
boils from salt water.
July 11, 1985 Provinciales, Turks and Caicos
At last! Made the decision to go back to the U.S.A., leaving tomorrow.
What a release! Monday I fixed the centerboard at Mayaguana and put up the
radar reflector. Got some alone time as the skipper went into town. Tuesday we
sailed for the Caicos about 10 a.m., beautiful day, pleasant wind, I said to
the skipper, "This is what sailing is about.". Just then the spreader tip
broke, the shroud went loose, and I had to go through the ordeal of fixing it,
a couple of hours in the air. I did it though, and we sailed on to a great
sunset (behind us). Before my next watch at 11 p.m. I heard the sound of a
beer can opening twice, and the skipper had been out of beer for a week (it
was my beer). While he was drinking I was navigating. At my watch at 11 p.m.
the skipper said, "Hold this course.". I had figured that on that course we
would hit a reef before my watch was up. (Remember we have no depth sounder) I
wanted to tack, but the skipper pulled rank and temper, did his "I've made a
decision," stomp. Not until he said I could get into the dinghy and row off,
and I said I would, did he relent. We tacked. On my next watch at dawn I
listened to Bob's and my tape, got out the charts and equipment and precisely
plotted our course, what it was and what it would have been. On the skipper's
order we would have been on a reef in the dark. My decision arrived. My life
is my right, and I hate to have to endlessly argue for my existence,
especially if I am not wrong. I did not tell the skipper then, but waited
until we were at the dock in Turtle Cove Marina, just before entering customs.
I hashed it out with him and made reservations for Friday to Miami, and I know
it is good. Provo is a nice place, far better than the Bahamas, and this is a
cheap, crime free, safe hurricane hole, but I can't make him not be stupid. Ah
well, it's not my problem anymore.
July 12, 1985 In a Cessna airplane heading back for Miami
Why did it turn out this way? I exchange struggle for struggle, the tears
and remorse as the taxi waited, the godawful loneliness of the two of us, the
dream turns into a nightmare. Lost at sea are we, lost at land I'll be. This
is what it is, decisions cast in corroded bronze, tell it to the TVP. I'm on
my way to America, the anthem is Koyannisqatsi, rip my senses, dear flesh,
from the grip of white knuckles. Tis' not my hands now at the wheel, I am a
passenger taken on to destinations. The lose-lose position stinks, all options
are effort to normalize the shudders of fear. In a blink of an eye the crash
can come, yet sorrow held is life itself. Now my fate is mine, my choices no
longer bear the weight of the skipper's life. Love alone cannot conquer the
failures of a lifetime, love can only be given with heart and soul to one who
accepts. I have dashed my happiness upon the insensitive rocks of these reefs
enough, it is fated that we are not on the same track. Now I am free, let that
200 mile per hour wind wash my ethereal body clean of the dismal reek of too
little life, the mildew of my soul. Now I have to dance my days to Denver,
dump this tropical malaise, deal with the real problems I have opted for. Can
I catch the spirit passing and have a face that is the sun tomorrow? It will
come, just as this earth turns beneath.