WEATHER WINDOW #3

The weather window we had been hoping for held and at 10:00pm Dec.25th, “Fortnight” “Salty Goose” and “Carefree” pulled up anchors and motored out into a calm windless sea. It was the best Christmas present any of us ever could’ve wished for! We were still wired from being up since 3:00am the previous night when we “bailed” due to high northerly winds just off-shore. Sleep had eluded us for 19 hours now but the adrenaline rush had us pumped and we were alert to every little nuance in the weather as we entered into the Gulf Stream. The sky was overecast and throughout the night, little lines of squalls formed to the south and west but passed us by. We rolled ever eastward over gentle swells and, just after daybreak 10 hours later, carefully negotiated the tricky cut separating Cat and Gun Cays.

It was a magical morning as we found ourselves entering another world. As far as the eye could see the waters all around were a dazzling turquoise blue and so clear that coral fans, sea grasses and enormous slugs could easily be seen beneath the ruffled surface as the boat glided over it. We knew we should sleep—we’d been 29 hours now without it—but were so excited by the breath-taking beauty of sky/clouds/water that we couldn’t bear to go down below.

We spent an entire day crossing the Bahamian Banks that separate the Gulf Stream from the Tongue of the Ocean. At dusk we found ourselves still three hours from the Northwest Channel Light and, as darkness descended, the fact that we hadn’t slept for the past 31 hours finally registered—too late! We were now dead tired and facing another sleepless night. And our timing couldn’t have been worse as it dawned on us that we would be approaching the treacherous Northwest Channel Light in total black-out conditions. We would not be able to see the scattered debris of previously wrecked boats on one side or the rocky shoals on the other. To make matters worse, the guidebook stated:

“The broken-off structure of the old Northwest Channel Light is still visible at low tide—but it is not marked. The Northwest Shoal Light is reported to be extinguished. Vessels not able to make the banks crossing in daylight should choose to anchor out on the banks and approach this area the next day when visibility is possible.”

Why had we not done our homework?! What were we thinking?! The only thing visible now through the inky blackness engulfing everything around us was the sporadically flashing Norrthwest Channel Light itself, but we had no sense of distance or direction!! Thank god for “Salty Goose”—our shepherd—who had made this passage many times before. Vince was right on her tail and when she contacted us on channel 16 and said: “This is it guys. In exactly three minutes we’re going to be turning 20 degrees to the right. Be ready,” Vince stuck like glue with hands firmly grasping the wheel as he made the literally “do or die” manoeuver! You couldn’t wipe the smile from HIS face or the tears from MY eyes as we made that turn. If we were “off,” the boat would crunch against either rocks or debris and we’d find ourselves adrift in the ocean with no coast guard or “BoatUS” to come to our rescue. It would simply be “game over.”
One man’s adventure is another’s ordeal. For Vince the past two days had been some of the most exhilarating and challenging of his life. For me it had been endless hours of non-stop stress punctuated by minutes of stark terror. This was just one of the moments of excitement for Vince and agony for me. And I couldn’t help thinking: “What the hell am I doing out here!!!”

As we miraculously edged away from the danger area, we now faced the situation of “out of the frying pan, into the fire” as our three boats headed into the notorious “Tongue of the Ocean” for the 12 hour night passage to Nassau. We had now been 34 hours without sleep and the thought of having to endure twelve more was inconceivable. We had no option now but to sail the boat in shifts and I dreaded the thought of being left all alone. Since Vince’s mental acuity was critical to our survival, he went down below to sleep first while I struggled to keep my blurring eyes focused and open and the boat on course. Thankfully weather conditions were ideal with smooth gentle swells and only a light breeze. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to do it. Each time I found my eyes closing and head nodding off I forced myself to stay awake by singing old camp songs. “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” saved my bacon! Just when I though I could stay awake no longer, the first two-hour shift was up. Vince emerged seemingly refreshed and I crashed below. The two-on/two-off strategy worked and by dawn, in a zombie-like trance, we eased the boat through Nassau Harbour and into a slip.

Sleep deprivation has got to be one of the most hellish conditions a human being can endure. And we will NEVER attempt a night crossing of unfamiliar waters without being well-rested, or EVER do two back-to-back again.