L O S T Application.

After lunch at Peace & Plenty, a hotel that serves a mean mahi-mahi sandwich, we move our boat over to an anchorage off of Stocking Island very near to Zephyr. I had previously acquired a map of the walking trails of Stocking Island so I have Dad drop me off and we all plan to meet at Chat N Chill, a little bar on the other side of the island, in just under three hours. The trails are very nice with sandy paths that cut through dense dark green foliage.

I figure if I just keep taking paths to the right I will end up on the south side of the island near the bar, unfortunately I didn’t really examine the map in detail and once I looked I found there are absolutely no paths that do this. All of the area is private, but what can I do? Swim back? I have already lost one camera to the sea and I would really enjoy not doing that again. How bad can it really be – there has to be a road of some kind or something. No. There is no road and soon the clearings just turn into dense forests. I give up avoiding the poisonous trees and just start pushing through plants. Halfway through the first private stretch I run into a home complex, even though I try to avoid being seen I run into an employee. He guides me in the right direction but assures me that there is no way to get to Chat N Chill from here, unless it is by boat. I am sweating, scratched, bleeding, and lost and actually am kind of having fun. I see another opening so I start climbing a densely wooded dune, at one point I have to crawl on my hands and knees all the while talking to the snakes asking them to spare me.

Quote from the map: “There are no poisonous snakes here, but spiders, centipedes, and snakes do live in the underbrush and will bite if disturbed.” (Thank goodness I only skimmed the map and didn’t read this before my crawling.)

I am getting close to the top when something tugs at the hair near my forehead. I know this feeling from all of my exploring as a child on Trenton Island. I have just walked into a spider web, but this is different. It’s a thicker, stronger, fuller tug – this is a huge web, so I slowly back out trying not to offend the web’s owner. And there he is. The spider is about two inches in diameter, not thick like a tarantula, but is lanky with a small body splotched with black and red and long, long claw-like legs. I start talking to him, which I tend to do in times of panic – just talk it out, rationalize it. The spider doesn’t seem angry, but instead just confused – “Do I try to eat this girl?” kind of confused. He has probably never seen a person before because no one is dumb enough to come out into these woods with the snakes, centipedes, and spiders. I politely say goodbye get to the top of the dune and finish walking through this private section on the Atlantic side beach (since there is no road, the beach is the safest path).

I have an hour before I am supposed to meet the parents at Chat N Chill and I have finally come to another path – one that brings me so very close to the bar. Unfortunately, I have to ford a small cut. Only about 20 feet wide and deceivingly shallow - crossing this would save me another hour to an hour and a half of toiling around the lagoon. I had computer class in school, therefore I played a heck of a lot Oregon Trail. This should be a cake walk. But once I get up to my shoulders in the water I realize that fording this river would cause me to lose all of my extra wagon wheels or maybe three of my crew would die of dysentery (or in non-Oregon Trail speak, all my things would get wet). Well, I guess I have to go all the way around. Really though, how much worse could it get?

After a bit more of beautiful ocean walking I come to Treasure Trail, ah thank goodness for having trails again! My nice sand path slowly degraded and became covered with about a foot of black water. The trail seems to have intersected the mangrove swamp. I trudge through the water conversationally asking the baby barracudas and leaches to please leave my toes unharmed, by this time I must have looked seriously crazy. Luckily, no other person was out there. It was only me, the creatures, and the mosquitoes relentlessly giving me Malaria. The trail after the ten or so feet of mangroves returns to the nice sand again and brings me to the beach! All that glitters is not gold and this beach soon turns into sharp, pock marked cliffs which after attempted to climb near shore ultimately defeat me and I must return to the woods. With only ten minutes to five pm I emerge to Volleyball Beach and the Chat N Chill bar, where Dad has been drinking all afternoon. I stick to Vodka Tonics in hopes that the Quinine will cure at least one or two of my cases of Malaria.

For your appreciation, on arrival to Volleyball Beach after my harrowing hike I was greeted by the lovely sight of the garbage house for the bar. This is my kind of bar.

Zeus? God? Nope that came off your mast.

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.

There are only three things to cry about: Birth, Death, Sports.

(Super backdated – I am sorry guys. I just really had a hard time coming to terms with the Cardinals game.)

We easily pass the waypoint of Harvey Cay and Black Point and are in a nice relatively safe anchorage (safe from all but westerlies) at a town, Black Point, that has a wealth of lovely things including: people, free WIFI, garbage drop, free dinghy dock, restaurants, clean water for filling your nalgenes, and what actually seem to be true Bahamian establishments.

Here is Black Point. Can you see what doesn’t belong? I will give you a hint, it is right in the middle and looks a lot like a sailboat’s mast.

We do laundry, get homemade bread from DeShamon’s, and have a full course meal at Lorene’s. And short of Dad gently nudging the local police boat with our dinghy, we have a very pleasant first day in Black Point.

This is our boat at anchor on Saturday with all of the local Bahamian kids playing on the dinghy dock.

Scorpio’s was a great bar for the game with Conch Burgers, Kalik beers, free WIFI, and Zhivago, the bartender who stayed open as long as we needed (since we are on east coast time the game was shown at 8:20 pm). Oh the game. I knew it would be a close one as I actually don’t mind the Cardinals as a team. But this is ridiculous, we are getting stopped left and right. Jared Allen is constantly under two man pressure, luckily E.J. Henderson and Pat Williams are making amazing plays and it’s about time these two get some publicity because they sure deserve it. A.P. can’t make any runs – it is time he took a page out of the Reggie Bush guide book and ran some laterals. Also, Benny Sapp is having the worst time with any sort of coverage. This is why I didn’t update for so long, because I needed to come to terms with the crapfest that was this game. We were completely, utterly, unequivocally, unabashedly trounced; but not only had that happened but E.J. Henderson also sustained a season ending broken leg. I cried when he was carted off field holding his brother Erin’s hand. Hit by one of his teammates, ugh. I hope Breezy and the Saints aren’t taking notes because they now know what happens when you shut down Allen and Peterson. I am happily going to blame Brett Farve for this. He was spending the entire game trying to methodically fix whatever was going wrong and thus wasted the whole game doing basically nothing (other than throwing picks). He refused to use the diversity we have with Taylor, Berrian, or Shaincoe. Although, the defense didn’t help a lot as they just let Fitzgerald do whatever he wanted.

As a team, and fan base, we have gotten too comfortable. So far this season we have quickly gotten ahead in points while our defense holds off the other team, throw in a few sacks to keep them scrambled and wah-la victory for the Vikes. This is the new team, the 2009 team, the Brett Farve team, we no longer lose games we are supposed to win and win games we are supposed to lose. To me the Vikings have always been the comeback kids, but with nothing to comeback from do we still have that determination, that spark, that screw the 2 min warning we play our best game then attitude? We seemed to have it at the 49ers game early in the season when we had something to prove, but this game was completely devoid of this fierceness that I fully attribute to being a Viking. We have no superbowls and we haven’t been truly great since the Purple People Eaters or Fran Tarkington. We have faced adversity and it has made us strong and tough as a team, but we need to hold on to our fierceness, that spark, because gosh knows we will need it verses the Breezy Saints of New Orleans.

Sorry for all the football. You better hope they start doing better again so that I get drink more beer and pay less attention to the game. For the final picture, I hope you appreciate the awesome Sega game located in the bar.

Book Reviews for Miss Anna

(these are just my book reviews - nothing to do with sailing... sorry!)

The Man Who Would Be King. Rudyard Kipling.

As many of you know, this is my favorite movie of all time – Sean Connery and Michael Caine – yes please. I figured it was about time to dive into the book itself. Like the movie it was portrayed from the memories of Peachy and his ordeal, but the imagery, I am sorry to say, wasn’t as vivid as what I wanted it to be. There were multiple times during the movie where I broke down and cried (which, of course, is not uncommon for me), but in the book I had a very hard time really visualizing these amazing scenes. I recommend watching the movie and then. The book fills in the gaps of the movie, but you still have the imagery that the movie gave you. I believe the duality of the two provides a very, very good story.

• “Englishmen are not usually softened by appeals to the memory of their mothers.” (oh English women, what tough broads)
• “The wheel of the world swings through the same phases again and again.” (any history buff would really enjoy this quote)
• “I’ll make a damned fine Nation of you, or I’ll die in the process.” (this is even better if you think about it in a Sean Connery accent)
• “The Son of Man goes forth to war, A golden crown to gain; His blood-red banner streams afar – Who follows in his train?” (this is a beautiful poem and is recited at a very crucial point in the story and I really liked it in the book, but it is even better in the movie where Sean Connery sings this in a long song form.)

Overall, you can see that I am biased toward the movie and really Sean Connery would make me biased for chopped liver. As I said before though you put the movie and book together it is perfect.

The Scarpetta Factor. Patricia Cornwell. http://www.patriciacornwell.com/

This is my favorite series of all time. All the main characters are tortured souls who work in a world of predators and voiceless victims. I have been reading it since I was about 10. Like any series it has had its upsides and downsides, good books and bad books, but it remains true to its science and even after 17 books the characters read as complex individuals who keep recreating themselves. Destructing and restructuring themselves, like we all do. This book is now too far tied into the characters and events of the previous books to be read singularly, even though Ms. Cornwell tries to make palatable to those not invested in the series. Read Post-Mortem which is the first book of the series, if you are not hooked then so be it. But there is no denying that Ms. Cornwell is a gifted writer, scientist, and culinary expert.

• “We owe respect to the living. To the dead we owe only truth.” – Volitaire, 1785 (I am not much of a people person, so working with the dead would be the profession I would prefer. The best thing about Kay Scarpetta is that she is a doctor, an amazing medical professional, who decides to spend her time speaking for those who can’t speak for themselves. Revealing the truth for those who need it the most, those who lost their lives and can’t speak anymore.)
• “Taceant colloquia. Effugiat risus. Hic locus est ubi gaudet succurrere vitae. Let conversations cease. Let laughter depart. This is the place where death delights to help the living.” (I love people who can really actually quote Latin.)
• “The kind of woman who could keep a man fully occupied in bed or kick his ass, like Xena the Warrior Princess in a business suit.” (I want this to be me.)
• “You know what the best security system is? Window shades.”
• IN VINO VERITAS.

Overall, I think I love this series so much because I want to be a character from it. They are complex, strong, and are doing some of the most important work that I can imagine. Alright, actually upon further assessment, I have fallen into the trap of a person who loves a series. I was watching Grey’s Anatomy Season 1 and the other day I watched an episode of the current season (6) and I was wondering to myself why it wasn’t as good. It is the long term series syndrome. As the series builds it gains more lead characters that then must be part of each story, thus making less space for the actual stories themselves – in Grey’s Anatomy there are less patients with completely fleshed out histories and in the Scarpetta series it leads to someone of a disjointed narrative. That is my objective opinion, but in my subjective opinion I still love Ms. Cornwell – even if I love her earlier books more.

Complications: A Surgeon’s Notes on an Imperfect Science. Atul Gawande.

At the beginning of the book I absolutely hated it. It was all about the god complexes sergons have, which I hate for various reasons and as I made very obvious that I truly prefer those who speak for victims. But it was the necessary introduction for the book which later transformed into quite an interesting and enlightening read. The book is broke down into three sections – Fallibility; talking about how you are made into a surgeon, the business side of it, and the commercial aspects; Mystery; explaining where modern medicine fails, how doctors are fallible and how they must address and deal with it; and Uncertainty; where are the boundaries, how do you know when you are practicing good medicine, and how can you be certain. Each section is broken down into different stories and each story is approached in a fully scientific approach (this boy did his research). I learned a lot about various different things – such as the Shouldice Hospital that only does hernia repairs and thus works as a focused factory taking a more business approach (Market Driven Health Care) and literally aims for perfection. I learn massive amounts of information on nausea, gastric bypass surgery (did you know that more than five million adult Americans meet the strict definition of morbid obesity i.e. are over 100 pounds overweight), the stigma associated with autopsy, SIDS, and necrotizing fasciitis. All the stories are interesting, well sourced, and pertinent to the conundrum of what it is to be a surgeon.

• “Sometimes wrong; never in doubt.” – from the Fallibility section which basically explains the full reason of why I disliked a lot of this section, but it was logical and empirically researched and in the end I agreed with his conclusions.
• “If you hear hoofbeats in Texas, think horses not zebras.” – I had actually heard this saying before (on Grey’s Anatomy). I am very happy I am now gaining information for more reliable sources.
• “Lake Wobegon: where the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average” – is this the official slogan of Lake Wobegon? Did anyone know about this?

Overall, I really enjoyed this book. It gave me a good feeling for what my friends in Medical school are going through and how their future job and current schooling affects their life. Surgeons live in a whole different world which I now feel I grasp more fully. On top of that I now have a whole new host of diseases to be a hypochondriac about. I completely recommend the book for anyone who likes science, medicine, or is curious about necrotizing fasciitis.

A Million Little Pieces. James Frey.

Final assessment – this book was bad. (The rest of this will just be me ranting about how bad this book was.) As Mark Twain said in regards to his intense disliking of Jane Austen: “She makes me detest all her people, without reserve. Is that her intention? It is not believable. Then is it her purpose to make the reader detest her people up to the middle of the book and like them in the rest of the chapters? That could be. That would be high art. It would be worth while, too. Some day I will examine the other end of her books and see.” I do not believe it is entirely fair to hurl insults at a book that you have not read fully, so I read all 432 pages and I am now sure that Oprah could have not been more wrong. Does she even read the books she recommends for her book club? The most complex word he uses is a swear word and I understand that it is stream of consciousness, but it was repetitive and crude and boring. To prove my point, I did not mark a page of interest until page 287. This guy must be the brother of Stephanie Meyer because he somehow uses three hundred pages to express the content of one and a half. Meyer’s Twilight: Vampire loves human, human loves vampire, vampire in angst, human doesn’t care; Frey’s Pieces: Man loves drugs, man hates treatment, man makes friends, uses treatment for benefit. Boom. Done. Story told. By the way the only reason that I marked page 287 is because they mention Angola Prison “in the deep bog, hot, humid, and miserable” which a lot of Tulane students go down to to see the inmates put on a rodeo. And the love story even though cute, ends with only a byline – really that’s it – a huge part of the plot and you drop it with one sentence. This book is crap. I can see how many of the sections didn’t seem factual – A Million Little Lies is probably more accurate. It is probably better that most of the book is lies, because then I don’t actually hate the real people portrayed in it but instead I just get to hate James Frey more.

• “Live honorably and with dignity. When you don’t think you can, hold on.” – actually inspiring, unlike the other 100% of the book.

Overall, I recommend avoiding this book.

Dear Anna. I am currently reading better books. I promise.

Any sailor who says they haven't run aground... is a liar.

I may have mentioned before about certain things that I would love to add to this boat – things that next time around I would not sail without. First being a hand held VHF, that way anyone on shore can communicate with those on the boat (oh when I fell off the million dollar catamaran I also killed our walkie talkies that we had been using to communicate). Second would be a voltage and amp battery meter, you know the pretty ones that are mounted on your walls near your engine. Thirdly, a single side band (SSB) radio. (Of course as I sail more I am sure there will be more things to add to this list, such as maybe some no-see-ums screens). Anyway, the SSB and in particular Mr. Chris Parker makes sailing a lot safer and more complex. Chris Parker is the weather man, who gives in depth updates about the weather situation in the Bahamas, while we don’t have a SSB we do have neighbors. Mr. Chris says we will be having 50 knot wind squalls until Sunday, but since we have already been at Norman’s Cay for eight days, we are anxious to leave and can’t imagine another FIVE days! So against the recommendations of the SSB we head out – bite the bullet.

The plan for the day is around thirty miles, as we are unsure of the weather we skip many very cool looking island (such as Shroud Cay where the mangrove rivers turn into whirlpools). Oh well, all the reason to return. As for waypoints we go from Norman’s Cay to Shroud Cay to Elbow Cay to Cistern Bore to Lightning Bore to Wide Channel where we cross over the Exuma Cay (island chain) and meet the Atlantic Ocean for the first time via waypoint Wide Opening. Being in the Atlantic Ocean there is now only water between us and Africa.

(An easy motor sailing day)

From there we take the waypoints of Warderick Cut and Warderick South where we enter our anchorage between Warderick Wells and Hog Cay. We are now in the Exuma Sound Land and Sea park, so we take a mooring (only $15) which turns out to be a good idea as there is a ripping current through this passage.

I only have two hours before dusk so very little time to explore the island and even at top speed I barely get past the southern tip of the island. But in my brief two hour excursion I get to see a lot of the varied landscapes and animals. The terrain is all sharp rocks around deep cavernous holes. The only vegetation is mostly poisonous and rash causing plants and trees while the wildlife is mostly tiny lizards with curled tails and hutias, the only native mammal to the Bahamas which is a creature much like a nutria but it is a lot cuter and nocturnal.

The next morning we weave our way out of the mooring location to the waypoint of Halls Pond, but along the way we slowly run aground at the sandbar just south of the mooring field – luckily, you can’t run aground if you are not going anywhere. With the strong current though we were more pushed into the sandbar, but we weave our way out through the rest of the narrow passage – pass Johnny Depp’s island – and are clear into the Exuma Sound.

Our first taste of the Atlantic! The only thing between us and Africa now is ocean. This ride is not nice at all – we are getting smacked with southerly winds of 17-22 knots right into our bow. On this 2 knot crawl, we pass Soldier’s and Bell way points, before deciding to stop wasting diesel and anchor at Compass Cay. We exit the Sound with 20 knot winds to our backs and an outgoing tide – what this amounts to is that pulling into the shallow water where our anchorage was is a vortex of BIG confused waves. We take a while to drop the hook at the northwest anchorage of Compass Cay, but we get it. We avoid the yacht club there as it is a major rip off and instead open a bag of wine and make a nice pasta for supper (we attempted to open champagne only to find that it is a strange yellow/brown color and probably a few years past its prime).

With our ambition for the Atlantic side gone we stick to the shallow inside route – it makes sense why so many Bahamas sailors must have a shallow draft. We leave through the narrow southwest passage that is nicely marked, unfortunately, we got a bit cocky and didn’t pay enough attention. Thus we changed course after the fourth marker, instead of the sixth – it was completely my navigational error, but luckily Dad caught it before we ran aground.

We now have nice southeast winds and easily pass Harvey waypoint with our eyes set on Black Point, which hopefully will have a Sunday football game.

Final Picture: not everything is scary running aground. Sometimes we actually sit and enjoy the view and by the way, the view is fantastic.

I get by with a little help from my friends. (Part 2)

Relying on my newly acquired friends, we attempt to repair our severely depleted batteries. As Monday is the Beach Club’s closed day, we pull Roxy and John out of bed and borrow their battery charger, tester, and generator. After hooking it all up we plan to leave the generator running for a few hours and see how the batteries fair. I spend the day playing Bocci Ball on the Whale’s Tail beach with Roxy, John and Jason (Norman’s Cay locals) while Dad and Mom stayed on the boat to monitor the batteries. While I was playing the generator ran out of gas – forcing Mom and Dad to run all around the island looking for fuel. Finally, they went to Quasar and received fuel from the friendly French Canadians.

As I mentioned earlier – something crazy happened and that crazy thing was me. Of course the klutz that I am gets on a very nice boat and only bad things happen - I receive my karma backlash as when I was getting onto the million dollar catamaran, Quasar, I slip and fall – off the boat. But not only do I fall off the boat but I take one of the French Canadians with me, actually his name was Alex and he was the very cute, very rich, very rugby playing one. He hits his face on the boat and I manage to get everything in my purse soaked – goodbye camera, and dignity, and self-respect, and any ego I had left. On the upside, I held onto my drink – New Orleans friends, you would be proud.

(If you want to hear in more detail about this horrifying event for me, just shoot me a FB message.) After this incredibly embarrassing event, I became a recluse in the boat for the evening and we discuss how we are going to fix this battery situation as we are still only getting half a charge out of all of the batteries.

(Me at Norman's contemplating how to fix an engineless boat)

After making a plan I go onto shore to talk to Roxy, John and Molly – we are going to pull out the 12 volt starting battery (by the way taking out the 12 volt battery involves someone small to crawl in behind the large Perkins engine and manhandle out a very heave battery) take it to shore to be charged as well as take the Nautica boat up to Highbourne Cay to get more fuel for the generator. At 8 am the next day, I am sitting in the Nautica speeding from island to island with Molly, John, Roxy, and Jason while Kingsley is buzzing us via his high-tech helicopter – what we would have done without these helpful people is unimaginable.

We obtained gas and charged the 12 volt battery (not without a few missteps – when filling the distilled water, leave room for overflow – lesson learned). And a December 1^st miracle actually occurs, the engine turns over and starts!

Just in time actually, the next morning we start to drag anchor – FAST. The CQR held for six full days, but with the full moon and the changing tides it must have just flipped because we gave way fast. Thanks to Poseidon that today we had a working engine. After at least 7 attempts at reanchoring we move across to the awash plane and put down the Bruce anchor with a ton of chain. The day was spent watching this anchor, we would be damned if it drags again.

Final picture - when you walk around these islands there are no populations - no people really to speak of. These islands are more populated with mosquitoes and lizards - an occasional wild boar and whatnot. You really feel as if you walked onto the set of LOST, but one thing they don't tell you or at least portray in the show is the bugs. On Norman's I received the nickname Sweet Legs, not because I am extraordinarily cute (which is true), but because I am sugary sweet for the mosquitoes and no-see-ums (tiny bitey bugs you cannot see).

I get by with a little help from my friends.

(Back dated to November 26)

We are still in Norman’s Cay. We spent a whole week in Norman’s Cay. Thanksgiving dinner was superbly cooked and executed – the spread was one from a magazine from the country ham that Nancy brought from Kentucky, to the hors d'oeuvres of walnut and blue cheese covered grapes, to the champagne Kingsley flew in from Nassau (who also picked up our tab for the night), and finally the sweet potato pie. There were a few boaters there, but mostly it was the island’s residents and different staffs. On Thanksgiving we made the rounds – meeting MacDuff’s owners Stephan and Beth and Chris and Celeste. As well as John, Molly, JP, and Roxie all who work there. There were also Steve and Wanna and their son Connor and nephew Jason, who are basically the only permanent residents on the island.

After the amazing meal the winds change and we get hit with buckets of rain, the next morning it is the same so at 6 am we run up to cleat off the anchor chain. We are still short a dinghy engine so we are confined to our boat. A neighbor, a 1938 Sparkman’s Stevens named Zephyr, comes over for supper bringing fresh made conch chowder and we discuss our dinghy fiasco. Casey, from Zephyr, spends the whole next day working with Dad on the dinghy engine problem –

cleaning the entire carbie and educating us on the concept that ethanol in the gas reeks havoc on a dinghy engine and the spark plugs. After hours of searching through our boat we finally find the spark plugs (we also had Kingsley fly us some in from Nassau). Finally, our luck has changed and I spend the day exploring the caves, vast roadways, and elaborate mansions that cover this historic drug den of an island.

With our changed luck comes the football Sabbath, a day of rest and love and the winning Minnesota Vikings – unfortunately this is incredibly wishful thinking. On my Sunday Sabbath Football Fun Day, I notice that the wind and depth meters are flipping – like the breaker is not holding. After lots of fuming around we realize that (via a battery test) we had somehow managed to drain all of our batteries. The main bank of four 6 volt batteries and the 12 volt starting battery were all dead and without these we can’t leave, we can’t move, and in the worse case if the anchor gives way there is no way to save us from running aground. We hope that if we turn everything off and let the solar panel take over it will charge the batteries. With that start to Sunday Funday we watch the game at Norman’s Cay Yacht Club at 4pm (which is strange since it is a noon game at home).

Ahh… Vikings football – I am able to spend time in my own little world that is free of the questions – What are you going to do with the rest of your life? Did you snub the anchor? How do you tie a Bowline knot? Instead it is just football – sweet, pure football. I feel bad for Bernard Berrian as I know he is a great receiver, but Sidney Rice is just performing too well (I think we all want to see Mr. Rice get a superbowl ring before Mr. Moss). I also appreciate the fact that even though Shiancoe’s touchdown was repealed he just did a replay and made another one – how tenacious! Even though A.P. can’t seem to keep his hands on the ball, my boy, J. Allen, makes an awesome play with an almost interception… how beautiful. We spend time bonding with some uber-rich French Canadians on a million dollar catamaran called Quasar and I spend the night in one of the yacht club’s cabins as Roxy has offered me a big bed and a fresh water shower – oh Sunday Football days can be so sweet.

Unfortunately everything comes with a downside. The solar panels have done nothing for the batteries and we are still sitting Shiva on a ticking time bomb.

Final Picture: as I mentioned on my Facebook something crazy happened - well in this picture for your consideration you will see a million dollar catamaran behind my boat - that is where something crazy happened. But also important in this picture is the courtesy flag that I made out of construction paper at MacDuffs bar during the football game - drunk artistic skills at its peak!