fetchinketch

We came into Norfolk to put some fuel in our tank and to get some fresh provisions. Both of those goals have been accomplished, and now we are headed back out again. Our target is to spend a few day out at the offshore “canyons.” The weather looks like it might be promising for a fishing excursion.

In this part of the coast the edge of the Continental Shelf is about 75 or 80 miles offshore. This is where the ocean drops suddenly from one or two hundred feet deep to several thousand feet. From about here north this steep cliff is cut by a number of steep canyons that are huge wildlife magnets. Several of them would put the “Grand” Canyon in Arizona to shame in scale. We are out there to put some fish in our freezer. Tuna. Mahi-Mahi. Wahoo. Grouper. Tilefish. Barrelfish. Rosefish. Maybe (if we are really lucky!) a swordfish.

If you follow our sailing blog (where you are reading this!) you might be interested in the fishing side of our world. We have a Youtube channel that is growing quickly. We have a few videos posted and several more in production. Have a look, let me know if YOU think it’s interesting. If there is a specific topic that might be of interest we’d love to hear about it. Feedback is always helpful. We have a few titles in production focused a bit more on the interests of sailors who might like to eat fish rather than the more hard core fishermen.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCkR6v1qMA3h0VL0POkvh7yA

Once we complete this offshore trip, we’ll be moving toward Annapolis where we will likely be spending most of September and October.

While we were sailing offshore the other morning, the weather was beautiful, but not especially unusual, at least at first glance. The atmosphere was very unstable, but on a very small scale. Not something you frequently see a hundred miles offshore. Karen was on watch at sunrise (which meant Bill was asleep) and she got some great pictures.

The first photo was of a rain shower Karen called “The Dump.” A very small, but obviously very intense rain shower. Just amazing that such intensity can be so local. I think this comes under the category of what a meteorologist would call a “microburst.”

Her next photo was quite a bit more dramatic–and unusual.

A long and skinny tornado. Well, technically I guess it should be a “waterspout,” but I doubt the difference matters if you are close to it!

While she was watching this in real time, she didn’t realize that it actually reached all the way down to the water, but if you look closely at the photo you can see the sea spray being thrown up where the funnel touches down. Again, this was really, really local. We saw no strong winds, and no rain on the deck of Harmonie. All the same, we were happy to not be too close to this.

Yesterday’s quote from Karen, aka “The Harmonie Sage,” “When everything is so perfect, why would you want to rush to the end?” It might have be that some people would have found the sailing for most of this trip to be frustratingly slow, but with very few exceptions there was always enough wind to keep the sails full and the boat moving in the general direction we wanted to go, and with at least enough speed to steer.

The calm seas, and quiet left us with a collection of wildlife encounters that have been truly exceptional. By way of example: sailing along at a sedate 3 or 4 knots, we had a small pod of three oceangoing bottlenose dolphin come and spend an hour or more playing with the boat. The big, dark colored, scared, old male, the female and the near-adult young one. Each individual had its own preferred game with the boat. The old male would park himself right under the bow, and lead the way, matching speed perfectly. The female preferred to dart from side to side. The youngster was, in the way of all adolescents, more curious and full of energy. Darting back and forth even faster that its mother, it frequently rolled on its side to get a better look at the boat. At the same time this was going on at the bow, we had a much more unusual visitor at the stern. Coasting along, holding station just a few feet behind the boat, was a very large shark. Although we have seen sharks gather around the boat in the hope of an easy meal while we were stopped to catch fish, this is the first time we have seen one actively following along for extended distances. There was no sense of playful enthusiasm like that displayed by the dolphins, this was all about business…

The wind has now picked up, running 10 to 15 knots. Absolutely perfect, comfortable sailing weather. We are approaching Cape Hatteras in absolutely beautiful conditions. When we make this trip, turning left at Hatteras makes the transition from blue water passage-making to coastal sailing as we approach the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay. Although it feels like it makes the end of the trip, we still have 150 miles to go before we can drop anchor.

Right now our plans are to pull into Norfolk, anchor, sleep, and make our next move based on weather and whim.

The winds continue quite light, and our progress north is due at least as much to riding on the Gulf Stream as any push from the wind, but it is satisfying and delightful. Except for one short time near a rain shower I don’t think we have yet seen over 10 knots this trip. But coasting along at three or four knots has its pleasures, and is a lot more enjoyable than listening to the drone of the engine. We have no place we have to be for a month, there is no bad weather chasing us, and we are tired of crowds in a marina. Given all that, spending time out of sight of land seems the best place to be!

Yesterday we did stop off South Carolina to do some deep-bottom fishing. Fishing on the bottom in 750 feet of water is a bit new to me, and just to get a feel for the drift and the amount of weight that would be needed I dropped a heavy jig to the bottom, and in 30 seconds was on a fish. Now that is a very long way up…. Very long. I never did find out what I hooked because half way up it was stolen off my line by a large shark.

We rigged up our newest fishing outfit, an electric fishing reel, designed for bringing things up from these depths, and in very short order had our limit of Golden Tilefish one of which we had to rush out of the water at boat side to avoid losing him to another shark.

We stopped in one spot today and tried to repeat out success, but it was not to be. We are off Cape Fear, North Carolina right now, and will likely be anchored in Norfolk in two or three days, depending on weather and fishing opportunities.

Sailing is just all-round better than being tied up to the dock at a marina!

We spent the last 5 weeks tied up in Brunswick, Georgia. We were there to put the boat in a safe place while we did a road trip to visit some friends, and to put some funds in the cruising kitty with some mechanical work on other boats. The marina was nice enough, but this being coastal Georgia, in July it is hot and buggy.

But now we have flown that coop! On Saturday we left the marina and anchored out in the harbor. Yesterday (Sunday) we headed out into the ocean. Our next planned destination is Norfolk, VA, and from there to Annapolis.

Our sail out of the Brunswick Harbor took us out into a nearly windless ocean, so we motored east. We we treated to a large sea turtle, dolphins by the dozen, and snagging a couple fish.

The nighttime showed us a bioluminescent phenomenon unlike any we had seen before. Normally when sailing at night, especially on a moonless night, the small creatures in the water disturbed by the boat’s passage light up with a green glow. Last night was different. All around the boat, in all directions, as far as we could see, it looked like little “light bombs” going off underwater. Sudden flashes of light, some quite bright, at various depths. Some just a very brief flash, others lasting a second or two.

As I write this I am treated to a large group of what I think are Rizzo dolphins swimming by. They show no interest in the boat, they have places to go. And again, just as I write this… another small group of large dolphins go by, of a type I can be sure of.

Right now we are out in the Gulf Stream roughly off Charleston, SC sailing north in very light winds. There are a few spots between here and there we hope to stop to drop a fishing line.

I promised that we’d post some photos from the last few weeks once we got a proper internet connection… here is the first photo album…

One of Karen’s passions has always been walking a beach looking for “treasure.” The longer the walk, the fewer the people, and the more exotic the shells, the better. As you might imagine, an uninhabited Bahamian out island is hard to top. Since we have been to two of these islands, Karen has been in seventh heaven…

And while not exactly beachcombing, it has been quite a while since we have added a photo to Karen’s Art Project of “Wildlife with Toes” Here is a prize one:

We were motoring the dinghy across the lagoon on the south side of Samana Cay when ahead of us we saw the shadow of a solitary bottle nose dolphin in the clear water. Almost at the same time, he took notice of us, and turned away from whatever serious dolphin business he was up to come by for a visit.

He looped back and pulled up parallel to us, giving us the once over, and apparently we passed muster. He swam ahead of the dinghy, and pulled ahead, then slowed down until his tail was just off our bow. The invitation was clear: “Race you!” I throttled up and the game was on!

For the next ten minutes we traded the lead as the dolphin darted from one side of the boat to the other. Out in front, off to the left, off to the right, underneath, but never behind. We finally broke off the game because we had things to do to get ready to get underway. In preparation for our departure, we hauled the dinghy up on deck, and our new friend slowly swam around Harmonie, looking for more fun.

Getting out of Propeller Bay is every bit as intimidating as coming in. Surf breaking on jagged coral just a few feet from the boat on both sides. The cut is very narrow, but not too long, and we were clear on out in deep blue ocean water again.

We are underway sailing to the northwest. We’ll clear out of the Bahamas at a convenient port, and then head north with the Gulf Stream to Brunswick, GA. This small port town has the advantage of being located just a few miles above the line our insurance company wants us north of for the summer tropical storm season. A short stretch of land travel, and we’ll be off again!

Our grand plan is to migrate back to the east cost of the USA beginning this week. Our first landfall there will be in Brunswick, GA. We’ll take the opportunity there to park Harmonie for a week and visit some friends, before migrating further north.

The first leg of that journey was from West Plana Cay to Samana Cay, another of the uninhabited out-islands of the eastern Bahamas. Only 30 miles apart, they are quite different places, starting with the approach from the sea.

When you get to West Plana, you approach from the west. There is a beach that is several miles long, and you just drive up as close as you want, drop your anchor and you are done. Easy-peasy. Samana—no so much.

Samana Cay is almost completely surrounded by a shallow barrier reef. Between the reef and shore is a shallow lagoon peppered with shallow coral heads. The entrance to the lagoon is a narrow (40 feet) channel several hundred yards long that has breaking waves running on either side of it, and a dog leg to avoid a shallow reef as you get into the lagoon.

From the sea it is an intimidating entrance. Until you are perfectly lined up, all you see are the waves breaking across the shallow reef. It is only when you are perfectly positioned that you can see the narrow lane of flat water, glowing turquoise with the sandy bottom. The actual run in went flawlessly. Despite coral reefs showing above water less than a boat length on either side, we never saw less than 11 feet as we came in. We anchored in the lee of Propeller Cay, and found another tropical paradise.

Unmentioned in any of the guidebooks is that Propeller Cay is a bird paradise. We surely haven’t seen them all yet, but so far we have seen Brown Noddys, Bridled Terns, Frigatebirds, Tri-colored Herons, Oystercatchers, White Crowned Pigeons. There are a few others here in smaller numbers that we haven’t gotten a good enough look at to identify. Pretty amazing.

The snorkeling is pretty awesome too.

We’ll need to be moving on from here soon, but Karen is already plotting a return!

Our destination for this trip has been the uninhabited Bahamian islands of East and West Plana. We arrived on Wednesday afternoon off West Plana, and dropped anchor. The weather forecast for the foreseeable future is pretty much the same: East to Southeast winds 12 to 15 knots, partly cloudy skies, high of 84, low of 79.

Ordinarily, this anchorage is an overnight stopover for boats transiting from the Bahamas to the Turks and Caicos. With boat traffic still dramatically reduced, we expected to have the anchorage to ourselves, and we did—for 30 minutes! Very shortly after we got settled, the 154 foot motor catamaran “Magnet” came around the southern tip of the island from the east. At least they are far enough away they aren’t much of a distraction, and as far as we could see they never went ashore.

Thursday was pretty much exactly the day we came here for. Karen walked most of the way around the island combing the beach for anything interesting, and I took the drone ashore to get some photos.

In addition to the shells and fishing floats (including one of the very rare metal ones!) Karen very unexpectedly came across—people! There were four people living in makeshift shelters made of palm fronds and tarpaulins on the east beach. Turns out they are Bahamians here to harvest cascarilla bark.

Oils extracted from cascarilla is used as a flavoring, most notably in Campari, and also in perfumes. The largest world source of this is from Aklins, Crooked, Samana and Plana Cays here in the Bahamas. These four live six months a year on Samana Cay, harvesting there, and come to Plana for 6 weeks. They don’t like it here, “It’s so hot!”, and there are fewer trees than on the larger island of Samana, but they say the bark is thicker and they get a much better price for it. They get here in an open, 18 foot, flat bottomed skiff. I am not sure I’d trust it across the bay, much less 30 miles of open ocean, but it is what they have.

There is no drinkable fresh water on the island, they have to settle for what they bring or catch from rain. I am sure the local herd of goats leaves no plants that would be eatable for humans, so their diet here is fish and (I assume) goat meat. The next time you have a cocktail that is made with Campari, be sure to lift a glass to Sharon, Randolph, and their friends. They worked really hard to get it to you.

Later in the afternoon I took the dinghy out to the steep drop off at the western edge of the anchorage and went looking for dinner. Mixed in the the jacks, and barracuda I landed three nice grouper.

All in all, it was a perfect day. All the work and effort to get the boat ready to be self-sufficient for an extended period have been worth it.

Once we an internet connection again, we’ll post photos.