We are off again. One of these days, when we are not under duress, we will stop at one place for more than two days. Other than a stop at Little Farmer’s Cay for fuel (and a little bump between out pulpit and the dock) we head straight for the Exuma Sound and the Atlantic again. We pull out the jib sail for a while. The ride is not nearly as rough as before, but still awfully rocky. While I am pulling in the jib I get a thwap on the head. A sheared off two inch bolt had just fallen from the sky – not good. Come to find out the other half had already fallen down and the rocking of the Atlantic knocked the rest of the bolt out. Upon taking inventory – mizzen mast, halyards, shroud lines – we hit a big wave and the bow plunges deep into it and with it goes our large, heavy windmill-like wind generator. It leans forward and looks precariously close to falling. The question is who will win – the thirty year old fiberglass cockpit floor or the 20 foot high wind generator? Luckily, the problem temporarily resolves itself as another wave wedges the generator back into the mizzen mast.
We pull into Musha Cay, an absolutely pristine private island, with very few breakers and drop the anchor is pristine, calm waters. Mom attempts the repairs first, but the machine itself is too heavy for her to move. My turn. The mizzen mast has steps for an easy climb up, but I also put on a black strappy safety vest that is attached to a halyard which Mom is tailing and cleating from the cockpit. Clipped to my vest is a strap so that I can lash myself to the mast once at the generator causing me to stay snug to the mast. Mom fills the fanny pack full of the tools and parts I need. I walk up the steps as Mom keeps the halyard tight on the front of my vest.
Once there, about ¾ the way up the mast, I lash myself to the mast and grab the vertical tube to move the machine back into position, but it is far too heavy and it rotates so getting a grip on it is near impossible and holding it in place while putting in the bolt is not possible. I realize that I have to look down to ask for help. I really do not want to look down. 20 feet (or so) is far too high for me. Dad tosses me up a line so that he can hold the generator from the below at the bow of the boat. I make the catch of the end of the rope at the very first attempt. I honestly kind of expected an ovation from the stingrays below. As Dad holds it in place from below I use the two wrenches to tighten the bolt, but as you imagine the inevitable happened. Clank, dropped a wrench. By this point my leg are quivering, my muscles are tired, and I am in quite an awkward position. Attaching it to a line I get the wrench back and finish tightening the bolt. Once down I am drenched in sweat and as we spent so long working on this problem we will be staying at Musha for the night, so I go to jump in the nice cool refreshing ocean. Once I’m in the crystal water Mom starts yelling – this picturesque, perfect, pristine island and waterway is obviously a commuter highway for jellyfish. They are everywhere – I am one lucky girl not to have gotten stung.
The next day we attempt our run to George Town again (via the Atlantic side) each taking two hour shifts for steering. We zigzag into Elizabeth Harbor around 3 pm. Elizabeth Harbor is in between Great Exuma Island (where George Town is) and Stocking Island. Zephyr, our friends from Norman’s Cay, are anchored over at Stocking, but we anchor just off of the “entrance” to George Town. The town itself is set in a circle pattern around Lake Victoria, which is only deep enough for dinghys. Dad and I jump into the dinghy to explore an actual city! On our fourth or so attempt, looking at the same spot, it is now dusk and we still cannot figure out how to get into Lake Victoria. Dad finally spots the small stone entrance in the dark (even during the day I have trouble).
Exploring George Town, which is only 900 people (like the size of Goodhue really), without a map at night is pretty futile. I leave you with some beautiful blues.
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