Author: Dylan Glockler

Every time we researched ‘things to do in the Exumas’ the number one hit was pig beach. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s exactly what it sounds like: a beach on an island called Big Major that is occupied, dare I say infested with, pigs.

Rumors fly about the origin of said pigs, including something to do with shipwrecked pirates, but the most plausible is that they’re there to lure in tourists — and lure they do, as there is often in excess of 20-40 boats in the well protected bay and at least as many hungry pigs of all sizes.

We avoided the pigs for as long as possible, instead exploring the natural beauty of the Exumas over transplanted farm animals that some claim are ‘incredibly clean’ but I can tell you first-hand, from raising one as a kid for FFA, pigs are not clean animals. In any case, my sister was visiting and wanted to see the pigs, so we obliged.

She, her husband Cliff and my niece Evaline came for about a week and they picked the absolute best possible stretch of days. The intermittent winds we had experienced since December completely gave way to just a few knots here and there – I think the wind meter peak memory may have logged a whopping 10.

Our first stop was a night at the Exumas Land and Sea National Park just off Shroud Cay where we spent the next day cruising in the tender through the northern cross-island, tidal river, from the banks to the sound.

We followed up the peaceful float with an exhilarating free-dive through a narrow channel at maximum ebb tide – something my friend Lucas thought up while visiting a couple weeks before. Luke dropped us off on the up-stream, banks side of the channel and followed us as we drifted with the fast-moving tidal flow. Looking down at the terrain flying past and diving 15-20 feet with the tidal push, I think we got a taste of what it’s like to be a dolphin!

The timing works out perfectly if you do the river float at high slack tide and then cruise to the channel north of Shroud and float from the banks to the sound side when the flow is moving at top speed.

That afternoon we headed south and slightly back west onto the banks and found one of those dark spots between Nassau and the Exumas and dropped anchor off a pretty large reef about half the size of a football field.

While we snorkeled around, showing my niece how to free dive and observing sea turtles, skates and abundant fish, Luke busied himself by catching a massive yellow-tail Jack. The fish, combined with the lobster we snagged the previous week on the last day of the season, made for a meal fresh from the sea.

I prepared the jack the same way I had a couple days earlier using some snapper: baked with salt, pepper and paprika and then topped with a lemon-herb butter, but the fish was quite dense and hearty, more akin to swordfish or the like and may have been better off thinly sliced and done up another way. A couple days later I treated the family to the last of the snapper for comparison and we all agreed the flakey, delicate, white fish was better with that preparation.

As we prepared to pull up the port anchor an odd noise came from the winch. You become accustomed to the various ship noises how things should sound. A strange drip or motor draws immediate attention. This clunking, grinding sound was bad news. Luke and I spent the next hour-and-a-half using a hand-cranked come-a-long winch to pull the 400 pound anchor and 75 feet of heavy chain up. Luke would pull winch the tackle up a few feet and I would turn the massive chain reel, lock it down, then we’d move the hook a few feet down and start again. Thankfully Wanderbird has two of most every system otherwise we’d have been headed right back to port.

We carried on down to Bitter Guana where we gave the family a taste of island life on Staniel Cay with some lunch and light provisioning at the Pink Pearl. We realized that the tide was right that afternoon for Thunderball Grotto and everyone agreed that snorkeling through the cave, with the beam of light streaming through the opening above, was quite a treat. The cave was filled with fish and the coral outside the east entrance was still abundant, though clearly suffering a bit from careless boaters and snorkelers.

Sunset on Bitter Guana with a short hike amongst the Iguanas rounded out our day and we were free the next morning to head north, back into the Exumas Land and Sea Park, this time picking up a mooring ball at Warderick Wells.

Arriving at Warderick we radioed to the park headquarters and were assigned a mooring ball directly in front of the office. This meant we needed to navigate the narrow, populated channel to ball 17. Tide was in our favor at slack high tide, but it was tough to tell which route we should maneuver around the other boats. We asked for advice from the ranger but she was unable to provide any advice as the shifting tides dictate the best route.

We worked our way in, past the first stretch along the right side and as we shifted to the left for the second line of boats, I found Molly laying on the floor of the upper deck – her way of dealing with the stressful situation.

We made our way around the shallow shoal in the middle of the bay and spun 360 to line up with the mooring ball. A couple of attempts with the hook – a bit of a challenge from the high bow of Wanderbird and we were tied up in a beautiful spot, close to a brilliant snorkeling area.

While checking in we were happy to discover that Saturday evenings the park hosts a pot-luck and we really enjoyed meeting folks from all over and learning about their travels around the globe.

We spent a couple days exploring Warderick Wells and left our mark on the famed Boo-Boo Hill. On the far side of the island, I was lucky to experience a low tide that allowed me to swim into the caves that drive the blow holes. A tiny, private, sandy beach accessible only by jumping off a cliff into the sea and lit only by a skylight in the sandstone, formed by thousands of years of pounding waves.

Our last night there I made a batch of spaghetti using some ground, grass-fed beef. The scent of the blood from the beef attracted some attention below the surface and we discovered a black-tipped reef shark and a large school of jack swimming around the back deck.

We made our way back, stopping for a night at Allen Cay where we watched the Yankee Clipper sail off in a spectacular sunset. With much sadness my sister and her family departed the next afternoon and Luke and I headed immediately back to Fort Lauderdale via brief stops at the Berry Islands and Bimini for rest and to allow a massive storm to pass.

We waited for the north wind to shift around to the east before we attempted to cross the Gulf Stream and while it was likely far better one day later, it was still a wild ride with a healthy northern swell.

Back up the river, the Fort Lauderdale New River docks welcomed us back into our same slip near Avenue of the Arts and the next morning we couldn’t wait to get back to our favorite OB Breakfast House where the staff greeted us like old friends.

My parents arrived in Nassau with a few days overlap before Paul returned to the bitter cold spell passing through Washington State. Dad was particularly excited about visiting, having already wished people ‘happy holidays from the Bahamas’ a month earlier, while still in Southern Oregon.

Once provisioned we departed East from Nassau just as the winds let up for the first time in a few days for a nice, calm run across the bank towards the Exumas. We pushed a little further south than our last excursion, directly to a spot off Pipe Cay. We spent a couple days exploring the area – the waters between Pipe and the other nearby Cays is shallow and was a good spot for Mom’s first attempt at snorkeling, though there isn’t a great deal to see in that particular spot.

After pouring over the maps we found what looked like a better protected anchorage further south off Bitter Guana Cay, but we’d be relying heavily on the navigation charts to work our way past an outer shallow shoal to the slightly deeper spot closer to the island. We approached the cut from the north then turned south towards the visible cliffs on Bitter Guana, hugging the shore within about 100 feet, which is a little nerve-wracking in a large boat in 25 knot winds, though they were fortunately easterly, pushing us off-shore, albeit towards the shoal.

All went as planned and we scooted in with just a couple feet below the keel to drop anchor in what turned out to be one of the most lovely spots we’ve stayed yet.

The next few days I felt like we might have been in the Galapagos. The island is home to rare Iguanas that surrounded our afternoon beach encampment and the snorkeling along the rocks brought the folks closer to fish, coral and other sea-life. I crossed the island to the east side and marveled at the heavier seas crashing on the harsh limestone shores.

It was here that we first encountered the invasive Lion-fish, several of which were hovering around the coral heads near shore. Having recently purchased some Hawaiian slings, a legal type of spear-fishing pole, Luke cleared one fish which was hanging out near a very full fish trap that we left untouched. Had we done the research earlier, we would have taken it back for Lion-fish tacos (more on that later).

After enjoying Bitter Guana and the food and grocery stores at nearby Staniel, we moved further south to the bay at Black Point off Great Guana Cay. We indulged in some Pizza at Dushaun’s and the next morning went looking for the bread maker we’d read about. On the way in I helped retrieve a local man’s bicycle which had rolled off the pier into the sea as children gathered around a man cutting slices of coconut for a Saturday morning treat.

At Lorraine’s Cafe we asked a local woman about the bread and she pointed to the small, white house behind Lorraine’s and instructed us to knock. A voice beckoned us into the small, homey kitchen of an elderly Bahamian woman pulling fresh bread from the oven. Several loaves were lined up on the counter, of which we purchased two at $7 each, one supposedly coconut and one cinnamon, though in the incredible French toast they produced the next few days we tasted both coconut and cinnamon in both loaves.

We anchored next between Little Farmer’s Cay and Little Galliot Cay and set about hunting for Lion Fish, with the intention of indulging in fish tacos while basking in the good deed of clearing reefs of this invasive fish. Apparently a single fish can reduce the reef population by 70% or more, as it has no natural predators in these waters.

Luke was successful our first evening and came up with a large, red striped specimen which he set about carefully cleaning, avoiding the toxic spines that protect the fish from nearly every conceivable angle. After removing one very nice looking, white fillet, the fish slipped off the back deck, so our dream of fish tacos was relegated to a tasting.

I marinated the fish in lime, cumin, garlic powder, salt and a dash of chili powder for 15 minutes, then pan fried the fish for 2-3 minutes per side until opaque. It was excellent and we were hungry for more!

The next day we tried again, first in the same location then scouring the local area but came up empty handed. Disappointing since our first encounter up north we had seen at least 4 among their rocks and reefs, but equally comforting that the area is not entirely overrun.

At one point I noticed a tender hovering near the back deck and emerged to meet a couple from the sailboat Foxy Lady. The husband in this duo had apparently been a captain-representative of George Baker, the original builder of Wanderbird. What a surprise it must have been for them to see her profile across these azure waters, thousands of miles from their last sighting: a boat show in Rhode Island many months earlier. And to see her now fulfilling her mission of exploring distant shores after having been intricately involved in her build so many years ago. We chatted a bit and they headed off to tag sea turtles for the University of Florida on a nearby island. What a wonderful way to spend the day!

We’re now two weeks into my parent’s 3-week visit. The tidal current shuffled us around and last night we moved a hundred feet to deeper water before the very likely event that we’d end up sitting keel-in-the-sand. We’re now contemplating Georgetown or Long Island before making our way back to Nassau next week.

I’d sure like some lion-fish tacos.

I wonder why it is that I feel awkward and embarrassed when I wave at someone passing and get no response – chances are they simply didn’t see. When passing another vessel it’s often a courtesy to acknowledge the other with a friendly wave. We try to adhere to this gesture and sometimes the report is, let’s say, casual or non-existent.

As we cruised past one sailboat at a lone anchorage back at Norman Cay we were taken by the exuberance of the wave from those on board, not merely a raising of the arm, but a full extension, with articulation at the elbow – surely an invitation to say hello.

After a few minutes chatting; four on board, farmers from Ohio, out for three months; we left them with an open invitation to stop by – they had noticed the Wanderbird while out fishing, and being sailors, commented that if they did ever go “motor”, ours was the type of boat they’d go for.

The topic turned to weather, as is often the case for ocean travelers, and the impending weather system on the approach.

Two days later, south at Norman Cay, a tender approaches from the stern and we’re happy to see our Ohio friends and we happily entertain a tour. They talk about living off the sea and comment about ‘missing some red meat in the diet’ and we arrange a pot-luck; we provide the burgers and they bring the freshly caught conch ceviche.

The next afternoon they come calling with their two, teenage daughters and we’re quite pleased to offer what we can to a family traveling so far, for so long. The girls are quite excited about the showers and everyone seems to delight in the extra bacon I prepared that morning on their burgers from Bush Brothers Provisioners in Palm Beach. We can’t get enough of that conch salad and are excited when they leave the left-overs after several hours of conversation while the wind builds to gale outside.

When it’s time to bid farewell we have offer a very wet and windy shuttle for several of our guests back and Dustin (the dad) manages to coerce their under powered tender to their cozy, well selected anchorage much closer to the beach.

Wanderbird proves fabulously stable and comfortable in this weather but there’s something to be said for simplicity and shallow draft, as I watch the Velocir anchored calmly in her protected nook.

Our time at Norman’s Cay was spent in equal parts exploring neighboring islands, including Highborne Cay, the areas super-yacht marina of choice. The restaurant here is quite good and expectedly high-priced. Don’t expect to explore the island except via the marina and restaurant; our Ohio friends were told the island is private when the came ashore to a beach using their dinghy.

Once the winds died we started our journey back to Fort Lauderdale by running North and West, first heading through the cut at Highborne and across the bank, to the West Bay on Nassau, just off Clifton Heritage Park. I desperately wanted to dive the submerge statues here, but the weather and timing were not conducive and it was stressful just winding our way through very shallow, rocky waters to the anchorage.

Once there we called on the radio for advice on getting ashore and a friendly motor-cat nearby gave us general directions to the dinghy dock. We motored across the dark back on a hunt for a few provisions to last us until Florida. On the south end we found a small channel with a well-lit dock that lead to a dirty lot, that seemed to be at the fenced-in end of a cul-de-sac. We flagged down a passing security vehicle who provided us further instructions away from the private dock to the crumbling public one across the channel. He was kind enough to call a taxi, which was fortunate, as the public dock, on ‘Jaws beach’ was 30 minutes from town, down a dark highway.

Once Miss Dawkins, our taxi driver found us, we provisioned at the local equivalent of Whole Foods, Solomon’s Fresh Market and after Miss Desiree gouged us for $100 taxi, we were loaded the tender and crossed back to the Bird for a late night dinner.

The following morning we pulled the anchor and began a rough slog north to the Berry Islands. It was a good test of how well we had secured the boat as we listed quite heavily between the swell and 20 knot winds. By mid-day we had slipped back into our little anchorage between Little Harbor and Frozen Cays, launched the tender and set out to explore the Blue Hole on Hoffman’s Cay, about a 30-minute tender ride north.

Had it been a nicer day, the Blue Hole would have been a dream for me, with it’s high, rocky, volcanic ledges and deep, blue waters, but the strong wind and cooler temperatures from the weather system hammering the Northeast kept me from jumping into the deep. Instead we explored the shoreline and it’s scatter conch shells and numerous echinoderms.

After a night at the Berry’s we had a rough hour cruising to the protection of the North winds by Chubb Cay before we crossed into relatively calm waters of the Great Banks. We weren’t sure about crossing the banks in such winds but it proved reasonable and a good opportunity to deploy the passive stabilization system, comprised of a set of poles and ‘birds’ – metal plates on tethered lines that restrict the listing of the boat in heavier seas on the beam. We also tested the mainsail as a means of propulsion having only used it previously to orient the boat in a windy anchorage.

Into the night we rounded Bimini and looked at Nixon Bay south of South Bimini but the winds had shifted East so we considered the West coast before we decided the swell might be a little much, despite a mid-sized catamaran anchored in the area. We decided to have a go at the crossing, having reviewed the latest weather.

About an hour into the venture things were getting a little wild. I had things pretty well secured from our earlier battle with the winds off the Berry Islands, but the swell from the Gulf Stream was just too much. We turned back sometime before 2AM and joined the catamaran for a somewhat rocky but comfortable few hours at anchor off Bimini.

In the morning after employing the French ring for Croque Madame, I free dove along the boat with the most fish I’ve seen yet in the Bahamas and two nurse sharks at least as long as I am tall.

On Friday, Dec 22 we threw off the lines and headed down the New River towards the Atlantic. We would have preferred to leave one hour after high tide, which is optimal slack tide, according to our resident expert Jonathan aboard the nearby Mobjack. We were fortunate to meet this long-time Florida captain who gave us some insight into navigating the river and crossing to the Bahamas.

The joke is that the Wanderbird truly wanders – the boat leads with it’s massive bulbous bow and the stern sometimes drifts along behind. This is an issue when navigating down a narrow river with tidal currents and numerous large and anxious vessels under tow, bearing down from behind as well as two bridges that must be negotiated to accommodate our 47 foot mast.

Luke was a champion of the day however and by sunset we were witness to a spectacular view of a solar, back-lit Miami.

Into the night with placid seas allowed for a comfortable dinner and by midnight we were past Bimini and onto the Banks, the shallow water between various Bahama island chains and our anchoring ground for the night.

Choosing a spot rather at random, we struggled into the wee hours with the ground tackle, having only seen the equipment demonstrated briefly. At one point the 400 pound anchor hung roughly 10 feet off the bow and we weren’t sure just how to engage the winch to bring it back!

Persistance, along with Luke’s mechanical nature prevailed and soon we had the system mastered – raising the starboard anchor back into it’s pocket and choosing the Port due to the direction of the prevailing winds.

It was a restful but brief night with that hefty anchor and 75 feet of monstrous chain to keep us grounded. After a mere 2 hours sleep we were up at 5AM, pulling the anchor and continuing on towards Chubb Cay, where we needed to clear into the Bahamas before 5PM

Chubb appeared in the distance and we slipped between rocks and wrecks along the Northwest Passage and into the harbor. About an hour to clear in, along with $407 (roughly $300 to clear and $107 landing fee) and we were back out, making our way north to a spot Jonathan suggested between Little Harbor Cay and Frozen Cay, in the Berry Islands.

By the time the lumbering Bird got us there, it was dark and we were specifically instructed NOT to hit the exposed rock awash in the entrance, which certainly would have been easier in the daylight. With me on the bow and Luke operating from the fly-bridge we crept slowly through the deep but narrow channel, listening carefully for the sound of the break on the rocks just off our port side.

At dawn we peered into the crystal clear waters at the turquoise glow from white side and sea grass to see our rather circuitous placement of the anchor and chain. A bit of a weave, but sufficient given the calm conditions. Next time we’ll put more effort into arriving in the light and perhaps practice our night deployment of the ground tackle when possible.

With a light wind from the North Luke was anxious to test the mainsail, which can be used to keep the boat oriented into the wind to prevent a side-roll. We were quite pleased with the result and slept soundly.

That morning, being Christmas Eve, we had a hearty breakfast and launched the tender for the first time. It’s a different endeavor than we are used to, the crane serving both the mainsail and davit. It launched well enough but the poor rigid inflatable has seen better days and it was a rough start.

As I’m cleaning up from breakfast Nathan summons me to the stern saying I need to swim a rope to Luke, who I find paddling furiously against the tide fifty feet off the back. I find a suitable rope, secure the end to the main boat and dive in to retrieve our tender.. and my husband.

After a couple hours of failed test runs, the tender seemed to be gaining reliability when the skies darkened and a bit of clouds and light rain and wind rolled in. We decided it’s was against our better judgement to test fate and delayed exploring the Blue Hole on Hoffman’s Cay to our next visit.

On Christmas morning we pulled the anchor, stowed the tender and headed towards the Bahamas for a few days of maintenance, where I write this now, as Luke flushes the sea-chest in the hopes that it will improve the performance of various reliant systems.