Book search

This quick post has nothing much to do with our sailing trip. If you want that kind of stuff, check out the post Moss wrote about our turtle hunting trip yesterday.

For decades I’ve had a vague memory of a science fiction story I read when I was a kid. I remembered only one scene: something about an abandoned subway station on an uninhabited planet. That’s it. So for years I searched and tried to determine who wrote the story and what it is titled.

Well yesterday I found it, finally. It’s an Arthur C. Clarke book called The City and the Stars. I located the book online and downloaded a copy. It was quite a thrill reading this thing that I had begun thinking I’d imagined. As far as I can tell, when I first read the book, I never got past the part about the subway (which was pretty cool and definitely stuck in my memory). Maybe I started the book at the library but never checked it out, maybe I borrowed a copy and had to return it before I could finish. In any event, the story turned out to be ok…started strong and finished medium. Nevertheless it was quite a thrill to find the book after what has to be more than 35 years.

Now I’m on the hunt for another story I read as a kid. This one is about a planet with a poisonous sun that ages people in a matter of days. I think it is by Robert Heinlein. 

Cruising tip of the day: never give up.

Hope Town, Man O War, Green Turtle Cay

Hope Town in the Abacos is an interesting place. First, it is completely different from the sort of spots we’ve enjoyed for the past four months. The Exumas, while providing the clearest water, the best snorkeling, the sandiest anchorages, the most varied sea life we’ve seen, also have pretty meager offerings ashore. 

This is not an alley or one-way street. It is a two way road in Hope Town.

On our charts, island after island will typically have a note saying something like “Resort planned. Development stalled.” The settlements are tiny, sleepy, and somewhat second-world in character. Lots of cinderblock construction, lots of hurricane damaged buildings, surprising amounts of trash lying about, not a great deal of industry or commerce in evidence. In contrast to the Exumas, Hope Town and other islands in the Abacos, were settled by Loyalists escaping the aftermath of the American Revolution, so there is more of a colonial Caribbean, brightly colored, Victorian air to the place.

When is the last time any of you saw a Mini Moke? Perfect for those narrow streets.

Moss walking the Hope Town dinghy dock.

Hope Town.

Hope Town Harbour is a small basin with outstanding weather protection. It is also jammed with moored boats. We have not been in a harbor with closely placed moorings since Scituate, Massachusetts but even there the boats were half as densely packed together.

Because we needed to do some laundry and wanted to stay in a quiet spot to ride out some squally weather, we rented a mooring for two nights. At just $20/night, the moorings are among the best bargains of the trip to this point.

We enjoyed little Hope Town, particularly the coffee shop, the tiny narrow streets, the flowers, the birds, the locals, the friendly friendly cruisers, and the lighthouse.

Door knob on the lighthouse.

That Hope Town lighthouse, built in 1936, is the oldest mechanical, kerosene-lit one in the world. The mechanism was built around 1900 and first used in a different spot, then moved to Hope Town. In fact, it is the last functioning one of its kind. Basically it is a gigantic rotating Coleman lantern floating on a 1,200 pound pool of mercury. The 3.5 ton light mechanism floats on the mercury so its rotation (once every 15 seconds) is smooth and low-friction. The works that run the rotation need to be wound every two hours through the night. The weights running the clockworks descend about fifty feet from the top of the tower down the inside of a very well-greased tube that also acts as the center of the spiral staircase. The whole operation is pretty neat.

Hope Town Harbour from the top of the lighthouse.

After Hope Town we moved a little farther north to Man O War Cay for a night at anchor off a cove on the northwest side of the cay. Man O War is another charming little spot. Narrow lanes,  golf cart traffic, and a pretty bustling (by Bahamian standards) boatbuilding industry. We scored some ice cream, checked out a center console gnat boat being finished in its mold, and picked up another coconut. 

We decided there was not nearly enough coconut in our lives so far this trip. Most of the palms in the Exumas are the non-coconut variety. (Who knew such a thing existed?) But there were plenty on Lee Stocking Island. And the Abacos are covered with the things. 

Albury Boats.

Delicious coconut.

I have gotten to the point where I can open a coconut in about 15 minutes. It’s a messy proposition on board, but that’s where my coconut-opening tools are kept. I use a hacksaw to make a cut through the husk, then I pry the husk off with a flathead screwdriver. Yesterday, however, I opened a coconut on the beach using just a piece of shell and my bare hands. I’ve completely switched from hunter to gatherer at this point in the trip.

As we landed on the beach at Man O War, we ran across friends (Ken and Sharon from Charis) we met way back when we were in St. Augustine, Florida. They’ve spent their winter up here in the Abacos on their boat and may head to Beaufort with us in the coming weeks. 

Moss sat down for just a second and this kitty jumped right into her lap.

Because the anchorage was a little rocky in the southwest winds, we didn’t want to spend a second night at Man O War. Instead we decided to take the favorable weather to cross the Whale Passage (a notoriously difficult cut we needed to negotiate in order to make it to the smaller, more remote islands of the northern Abacos). 

So now we are moored in Black Sound at Green Turtle Cay. The mooring is the cheapest we have ever found – just $11/night. That includes the use of a saltwater pool and access to the nastiest showers we’ve seen all trip. (When I say they are nasty showers, I don’t really mean it in a judgmental way. Somewhere has to have the nicest showers (St. John’s Marina near Charleston) so somewhere else has to have the worst. This happens to be the place.)

Green Turtle Cay is a sweet little island. The town is convenient and a mix of cruiser-useful (little grocery store, hardware store, restaurants) and local-residential (churches, playgrounds, houses, schools). 

WWJD? He would pay attention in English class.

Lets talk about proofreading..

Last night we met up with Karen and Paul from Satagraco who we met way way back in New Bern during Hurricane Florence. They were staying at the same marina with us and were a huge help (and comfort) as we prepared for the storm and then got things back together afterwards. 

In any event, they keep their boat here at Green Turtle and we all went out for dinner yesterday. It is such a treat to spend time with them here in paradise, rather than in storm-ravaged New Bern. 

OMG! I’m just like those people on Facebook who post pictures of their food! Thumbs up if you like the mahi dinner Ellen made! Yum! LOL!

It’s been a while. Here’s another selfie of Ellen.

Big news today.

Another splendid sail today. But the big news is not the 56 mile offshore run where we averaged 6.5 knots all day long. The big news is not the peak speed of 8+ knots we hit periodically. The big news is not the marlin (or was it a swordfish?) we saw leaping out of the water as it chased a dorado. The big news is not that we are now safely anchored in the Abacos. No, the big news is the two (TWO!!) fish we caught today.

We caught two fish today!

As soon as we hit the deep water off Eleuthera, we put the lines in the water. Within about 45 minutes, we caught a fish with our little green and pink squid-looking lure. Pulled it in and found a little barracuda on the end of the line. I hauled it up to the rail, Ellen anesthetized it with vodka in the gills, then she pulled the hook out and turned the fish loose.

Vodka, barracuda, squid lure.

Hours later, when we were in the super deep water between Eleuthera and Abaco (11,000+ feet deep, yow!) Ellen had just pulled in the line to clear some seaweed from the lure and was letting it back out when a fish struck.

Ellen hauled the line in until the fish was just behind the boat, then I managed the line while she got the dorado (Coryphaena hippurus) (aka mahi-mahi) with the vodka. Then Ellen wrapped the catch in our fish towel, hugged it to her torso, and carried it to the side deck where the fish pail was waiting.

Ellen the killer.

Once she had it at the pail, Ellen really doused the dorado with vodka. Then, using her fillet knife, she chopped off its head and proceeded to fillet the rest. We got two huge, beautiful fillets from the fish and now Ellen is researching recipes. That’s enough words for today. Pictures are even better.

Dismantling the fish.

Eleuthera

This morning at first light we (Ellen) raised anchor and bid farewell to the Exumas. Although the weather report was for light winds of no more than 14 knots, we set sail with a double-reefed main just in case. As it happens, that was all the mainsail we needed because the wind was in the high teens.

Today was one of our longest daylight sails of the trip, certainly the longest of the year so far. And over the 48 mile course we averaged better than 6 knots on a perfect beam reach. It was a glorious ride and Cupcake made us very proud. 

Our course took us over some shallow spots littered with coral heads. Fortunately, the average water depth was great enough (around 20’) that even the massive coral heads did not come closer to the surface than 10’ or so. Nevertheless, Ellen and Moss spent the better part of an hour on the bow spotting the heads so I could steer around them. Even though we never saw water too shallow for our draft, discretion had us zigging and zagging around the coral just to be on the safe side.

Each of those little + marks is at least one gigantic coral head waiting to tear poor Cupcake to bits. We had more than 6 miles of this excitement today.

Now we are securely anchored in a very well-protected cove at Royal Island at the northern end of Eleuthera. The water is nothing like what we have been used to the past months…visibility is probably no more than 25’. Moss wouldn’t even jump in when Ellen and I took a dip this afternoon.

Just after we set the anchor we were treated to the sight of a southern stingray jumping out of the water near the boat. It’s quite a spectacle.

Tomorrow we are making the 58 mile jump across the deep water (10,000’ deep in spots) to the Abacos. Initially we planned on checking out the town of Spanish Wells near here, but given the wind forecast, we decided to mix our metaphors, make hay while the sun is shining, and get while the getting is good.

Sunset over Allens Cay in the northern Exumas.

Another-other beautiful anchorage

Today we had a brisk sail from Hawksbill Cay to Allens Cay at the tip of the Exumas. With the 18+ knot wind on our beam, we were hustling along at 6 to 7 knots all day. It was a swift, pleasant day. Ellen prefers days like the one from Warderick Wells to Hawksbill Cay because the winds were a little lighter and we were moving at a sedate 3-4 knots. That sail was a fun one, in part because we took a super shallow-draft route to get from the anchorage to the Banks. I misread the chart and didn’t notice that our route would take us over a 4’ spot at low tide. But we picked our way across the sand, which had shifted since the chart was made, and never saw less than 5’ 8” which is more than enough for good old Cupcake.

Hawksbill Cay – another perfect anchorage.

Before heading up to Allens Cay today (where we made our first landfall in the Exumas back in 2012 and where we will finally depart the island chain in the next few days) we enjoyed two nights at Hawksbill. Went to shore, walked through the little palm trees into the hot hot scrubby interior of the island in search of colonial-era ruins. 

We may have spotted the ruins when we got to a ridge after about 30 minutes of sweaty pathfinding, but by that point the girls were overheating and spooked about the rampant poisonwood in the area.

When we first arrived in the Berry Islands several months ago we were warned about poisonwood trees. It seems their leaves and bark contain an oil that is more rash-producing than poison ivy. Even standing under a poisonwood tree during a rainstorm can result in an outbreak.

Ellen fixates on and panics about two or three maladies each time we are in the Bahamas. This time she is allowing her lice-paranoia to fade (just a little). But swimmers ear and poisonwood have leapt to the top of the list, displacing even appendicitis. (She is just now regaling me with a story about a cruiser who had appendicitis AND a burst ovarian cyst at the same time. “It’s true!”)

In any event, we returned to the beach without finding the ruins or contracting poisonwood poisoning. What we did find was plenty of plastic crap. It is everywhere on the beaches of the Bahamas (and, presumably, beaches everywhere). Not to get all preachy, but really people, use less plastic. Single-use plastics, plastic packaging, plastic cups, plastic silverware are all an abomination and a blight. 

Ubiquitous plastic crap.

Cloud that looks like a pig. YOU are a pig if you don’t start controlling the amount of plastic you throw away.

While Ellen chatted to a cruiser who was tanning (who does that anymore?) on the beach, Moss and I swam back to Cupcake. Then, because we didn’t know if Ellen was strong enough to drag Mr. Flowerpot back down the sand into the water all by herself, we swam back to the beach to help her with the dinghy. She says she could have managed just fine and we believe her.

We walked the beach and spoke with a crew member from one of the megayachts anchored offshore. He was sitting under a tent/pavilion keeping an eye on water toys and beach chairs. The tableau was set up on the chance that the party of 12 “old women…celebrating a 40th birthday” on the yacht wanted to come ashore. After the charter was over, he told us, the ship would spend two weeks in Fort Lauderdale before heading to the Mediterranean. “Well, we are headed to Freeport, Maine,” we said, just to watch the jealousy in his eyes.

Big yacht in the foreground and a teeny-tiny one in the background. Oh, wait…

There are more megayachts up in this part of the Exumas than we have seen since December. Today we passed at least six yachts of more than 150’. One of them was so large it came with a helicopter and landing pad. Another of the yachts was moored near us at Hog Cay the other day. When we saw the crew setting up the pavilion ashore, we dinghied over to ask them when the farmers market would begin. Turns out the captain and his brother (another crew member) were former sailor/liveaboards who grew up as sailboat rats in the Bahamas and Caribbean. They graciously offered to fill our water jugs if we needed it. We graciously declined–the water maker has been performing flawlessly. Today the solar panels were able to keep up with the demand from watermaker, the refrigerator, the GPS, and the autopilot on our sail to Allens Cay.

Does everyone call these rings “sun dogs?”

And another beautiful anchorage...

Ok, so I am writing this post as we lie at anchor between Hog Cay and Warderick Wells in the northern Exumas. It’s not getting posted today because there is no reception up here in the Exuma Land and Sea Park. 

Initially we intended to stay here just one night, but the anchorage is as beautiful, calm, and quiet as any we have seen so far on this voyage. The group of tiny islands that ring the anchorage provide protection from all wind and sea directions except south. In fact, the place looks like I imagine a South Pacific atoll does: palm trees, sun-baked low islands, and a sense that there isn’t really anyone around for miles and miles. Last night the stars were outrageously bright with not much of a moon and no sky glow because there are no nearby settlements.

Moss is cooling her jets on Mr. Flowerpot.

Rather than hustle along (there will be ample opportunity for that in the coming months) we are slowing way, way down. Two nights here was the plan, but the Park wardens came by this morning to tell us anchoring was not allowed in this spot because of the rare stromatolites (a kind of coral) in the area. We know we are anchored in sand, surrounded by sand, and nowhere near stromatolites of any sort, but it’s their park. So we will be moving up to Hawksbill Cay later today.

In the meantime, we have been enjoying our leisurely tour northward. Earlier this week we stayed two nights at The Mice, a skinny slot between Wild Tamarind Cay and three dots of scrub-covered land just to the south and west of Thomas Cay. 

We tried to spear our last lobster in the Bahamas while we were there because the lobster season closes at the end of March. Could not rustle up a lobster, but I did manage to get a lionfish big enough for Ellen to risk the poisonous spines. It was the first fish she filleted and she is not all that eager to do it again. So I’ve hung up my spear – for the rest of the trip I’ll be a tourist, not a hunter under water.

Fearless hunter trying out the trident spear tip.

Getting the lionfish was no easy task. It was hidden in a little cave inside a coral head, and to position myself to spear it, I had to turn my back on the 4’ barracuda that was eyeballing me the whole time. I know they are not supposed to be aggressive, but those barracuda look like they mean business. The lionfish wasn’t all that cooperative either, but in the end I got it. I had switched spear tips after the fiasco trying to get that lobster back at Galliot Cut. This time I used the triple tip and it worked like a charm. Well, it worked out for me. Not so much for the lionfish.

Lionfish. (Pterois volitans). The dorsal, ventral, and anal fin spines are venomous.

We continue to be awed by the colors of the water here. Yesterday we went a few miles offshore to find water deep enough to justify trolling a fishing line. We were rewarded not with a fish (of course) but with the spectacle of the water color changing from the crystal clear turquoise of the shallows on through the spectrum to the sparkling indigo of the deep deep water. Visibility while snorkeling has been fabulous lately…we are able to see at least 200’ under water.

At The Mice, we dinghied up to the beach on Thomas Cay and walked to one of our favorite spots in the Bahamas - Button Beach on the cut between Thomas Cay and Joe Cay. This beach has magnificent views and for some reason is replete with little coral beads that have eroded with holes in them. We’ve seen none of these beads anywhere else, but at Button Beach we find them by the dozens.

This is the thing, each of our anchorages is perfectly gorgeous. This one is Button Beach at Thomas Cay.

Yesterday we explored a little bit of the southern end of Warderick Wells. There was a sign pointing to a “Pirate’s Lair” and it led us to a spot inland where there is a natural freshwater well and a stand of palm trees. The signs there informed us that the anchorage where Cupcake was lying at anchor was used as a hidden retreat for pirate ships because of the same weather protection and seclusion from passing vessels we are enjoying. Additionally, the pirates came ashore for fresh water from the well. The theory is that the pirate sleeping mats brought seeds from foreign plants and that is why the plants in the area around the well are of a sort not typically found in the Bahamas.

Hanging out by the pirate well.

Lately we have been seeing fewer sharks and more green turtles. This change is comforting when we are in the water. 

There is a curious cave/tunnel leading through the cay to the east of us to the Exuma Sound. We thought about swimming through the tunnel but as the swell came through from the Sound it pushed a lot of water with it each time. Seemed like a bad idea to willingly swim into a maelstrom.

Cupcake at anchor at gorgeous Hog Cay.

Shark sucker (Echeneis naucrates). Look how the top of its head looks like a sneaker.

Poor decision

Wow was that a mistake. The South Staniel Cay anchorage looked like it had everything: solitude, great wind protection, lovely scenery. But were we ever wrong. The solitude was shared with jet skis, airplanes, and gnat boats. The protection from the wind was, at best, adequate. The protection from swell and surge and wakes was abysmal. Just before bed on our first night, a squall roared through with heavy rain and winds of at least 40 knots. It was the very definition of a dark and stormy night. Even once the squall passed, we were rocking and rolling pretty much non-stop. Yesterday was really windy, really uncomfortable. And we had rain squalls off and on all day to boot.

After sunset, when it was far too late to do anything about it, the combination of the wind shift to the north (which made us swing on anchor over a shallower spot), low tide, and waves from the Sound had us thumping into the sand periodically. At first we pretended it was just the sound of the occasional oddball wave hitting the hull, but pretty soon it became clear we were bouncing off the bottom. Instead of counting sheep to fall asleep last night, Moss counted how many times we have touched bottom since leaving Maine. She says she remembers eight times. That sounds optimistically low to me. (She wants to know if that is good or bad. I say it’s good since nothing was broken.)

Last night was a windy uncomfortable one (a matched set with the night before). So this morning just before 8am we upped anchor in 18 knots of wind, picked our way over the shallows, and raced another squall on our way to the great protection over at Big Majors Spot. We didn’t win the race.

Low tide was around 10am and as much as we do not like to do our shallow-water-work when the tide is past half and falling, or when the skies are cloudy and we can’t see the bottom, or when the wind and tide could push us off our narrow course, nobody wanted to wait at South Staniel until afternoon for the rising tide.

Now we are safe and sound once again. The wind is still pretty healthy and is not predicted to settle for another day and a half. So we will stick around here, hunt for our last lobster, and sleep soundly before heading north up the Exuma chain again. Ellen may even swim with the pigs. (She is such a tourist.)

Collecting data.

Recording data.

This morning after we were securely anchored in our new spot, Moss and I worked on a math problem that involved pendulums and graphing. We had fun working with different length pendulums to time how long each took to complete ten swings. It was so windy we couldn’t finish the graph because there is nowhere inside the boat where we can swing a 200cm pendulum, and on deck the wind just tangled the thing in all the rigging.

Speaking of data-points, the solar panels are working beautifully, particularly as the sun is at a higher angle above the horizon these days. Yesterday we saw peak output of 15.8 amps. That’s a lot, certainly more than enough to run the refrigerator and the water maker and still have extra power to feed the batteries. Carbon neutral, baby.

Tools of the trade.

Yesterday I got moving on the first half of installing a gauge in the forward tank. (Thanks Jim, Sherry, and Eliot for bringing it down here.) The way we check the water level currently is to pull back the mattress in the v-berth, open the inspection port for the tank, and peer inside with a flashlight. But now I’ve gotten the gauge wired up and just need to use up all the water in that forward tank so I can drill a hole (in the top…) to install the float and rheostat. Then we will be a more civilized cruising vessel.

Half way done. (Note the toggle switches…ooh they are so nice. The one on the right controls the fan in the v-berth.)

Cruising tip of the day: lubricate the zippers on your backpack (and anything else that has a zipper) so you don’t find yourself with stuck zippers. I got to our backpack just in time last week. Used a tube of teflon-based zipper goo that came with the boat. Initially I thought that stuff was a gimmick, but now I am a believer.

That’s right, the bob for our pendulum is a zinc. I will need to drill it out and install it on the centerboard pin before we leave the Abacos next month because I doubt I’ll want to do that task once we are back on the ICW.

And Zero at the Bone

This afternoon we made a last-minute change of plans to check out an anchorage we’ve explored twice by dinghy but never visited in Cupcake. Initially we intended to head to Thunderball (again) so we could fill up the diesel tank and seek shelter from a front blowing through this evening through Friday. But we’ve been to Thunderball and Staniel Cay so many times, that just before we committed to that course of action, we diverted to a tricky spot in South Staniel Cay.

Tricky tricky. But not too tricky for Cupcake and her salty crew.

Crazy Moss.

South Staniel Cay is where we found the yellow submarine a few months ago when we explored by dinghy with Jennabird. The anchorage provides protection from WSW through NE winds, is devoid of other cruisers, and is lovely. The three drawbacks are: 1) the approach is super intricate, shallow, and rocky (but that’s really a challenge to be met, not a problem to be avoided), 2) it is off the end of the airstrip so we have been buzzed by every little plane coming and going, 3) there are lots of gnat boats scooting past leaving wakes.

The flights seem to be over for the day, the gnat boats are pretty much done by late afternoon as well. So now we are almost alone in this anchorage. There’s still a little bit of chop that needs to lie down (some leftover boat wake, some residual waves from the west winds) but overall the spot seems pretty secure. 

Let’s be honest…also crazy Moss.

The last of the fuzzy that needed to be scraped.

Ellen and I checked out the wreck of a small plane, then we finished scrubbing Cupcake’s hull.

Plenty rough on the Sound.

Same day, calm as can be on the Banks at Lee Stocking.

After we left Lee Stocking a few days ago, we took the very shallow Galliot Banks passage to Galliot Cut. Part of the reason we went this route was because we thought the Sound would be lumpier than we would find comfortable, and part of the reason was we wanted to see if Cupcake could make it through the shallow spots on the Banks. No problem. It was a pleasant ride, even considering the squall we caught the edge of as we approached our anchorage.

We spotted the squall, monitored it on radar, and slowed down so we wouldn’t find ourselves anchoring during the worst of it. As it happened, we enjoyed the wind and rain because we had plenty of sea room to deal with the weather, then we anchored under bright, sunny skies once again.

Squall.

Nine feet deep and it looked like about two.

In the morning, we snorkeled Galliot hoping to catch a lobster before the season ends on April 1. but none were to be found. What we did find was a group of four majestic spotted eagle rays flying in formation. They passed underneath us as we snorkeled, then made their way back to the deeper water. The largest of the group had a wingspan of at least 7’. Eagle rays are big, stately, graceful creatures. Also, they have spots.

We left Galliot late in the morning because we had a busy day ahead. Our next stop was Oven Rock on the southwest side of Great Guana Cay. We had read about a hike that led to a cave in a hillside, in the cave was a saltwater snorkel spot complete with blind shrimp, stalactites, and stalagmites. 

Cave entrance on Great Guana Cay.

When we got to the cave, there was another group of sailors there, one of them insisted we borrow his dive light so we could snorkel and really get creeped out. So we did, but I couldn’t bear it for more than a few minutes…seeing the dark water drop away into the black abyss was not my thing. Nevertheless, we did see plenty of those blind shrimp (also creepy) and pretty cool limestone formations.

Spooky dark water in the cave.

Back out in the sunlight, we enjoyed the walk across another gorgeous Bahamian island before setting out through flat clear seas to the Castle anchorage south of Black Point. That’s a lot of activity for one day. And Ellen figures she hauled about 250’ of chain anchoring at all those stops. 

Great Guana Cay near Oven Rock.

Oven Rock.

Once the hook was set, we checked out the lovely crescent beach ashore. While Ellen and I were wading in the shallows, a shark came cruising by along the beach. Seeing a shark when I am in the water often makes me think of Emily Dickinson’s “A narrow Fellow in the Grass.”

A narrow Fellow in the Grass

Occasionally rides -

You may have met him? Did you not

His notice instant is -

The Grass divides as with a Comb,

A spotted Shaft is seen,

And then it closes at your Feet

And opens further on -

He likes a Boggy Acre -  

A Floor too cool for Corn -

But when a Boy and Barefoot

I more than once at Noon

Have passed I thought a Whip Lash

Unbraiding in the Sun

When stooping to secure it

It wrinkled And was gone -

Several of Nature’s People

I know, and they know me

I feel for them a transport

Of Cordiality

But never met this Fellow

Attended or alone

Without a tighter Breathing

And Zero at the Bone.

Last night was a very calm one at the Castle, and when we awoke in the morning, we got underway to Black Point so we could do a couple of quick loads of laundry before getting anchored at South Staniel for the coming weather.

Moss drove from anchor up to anchor down.

When we left Georgetown we planned to take our time getting north through the Exumas, intending to revisit favorite places as well as stop at anchorages we skipped over on the way down. So far so good. It looks like we will take two or three weeks to cover the same ground our pals on Jennabird managed in about three days.

Selfie Ellie.

Instagram notice!

I have been asked to advise you that Ellen, who is more of a pictures than words person, started an Instagram account with Moss. Search for cupcakeafloat wherever Instagrams are sold.

Lee Stocking Island

After an afternoon exploring tiny Leaf Cay (iguanas, spectacular views, clean water, great beach), hunting for lobster (great coral with all the lobstery-ledges and caves you could want, but way too much current for safe hunting), and cleaning Cupcake’s hull (so so fuzzy) we enjoyed a relaxing night at the Leaf Cay anchorage.

Hmm. Found this ashore at the Home Depot. Why anyone would want rust in a can is beyond me.

This morning, mindful of the big winds and squally weather coming tomorrow, we moved about a mile and a half to the more protected anchorage in the lee of Lee Stocking Island. Lee Stocking is abandoned now, but through 2012 it was a working marine lab/ocean research center. The place looks like the researchers were given about half a day to get their things together and split. There’s a post-apocalyptic vibe going on here that we very much enjoyed (after all, we’ve got fresh water, solar power, and the bounty of the sea to sustain us).

We got so excited when we saw this place.

Ellen hunted some coconuts today. Without a machete, those things are the proverbial tough nuts to crack.

Did a little more work cleaning the hull. It looks like it will be a three day job. When we are finished, Cupcake will be a speed-demon once again as she slips effortlessly through the waves.

Pretending to be airplanes on the runway.

That’s a big fish tank.

Believe it or not, Ellen is hunting for coconuts in this enormous yucca plant.

Conch killer.

Cupcake crew picture.

Checking out the water with my Moss.

Charcoal graffiti.

Here’s a selfie. It’s been a while.