FROM ISLAND TO ISLAND

Eve Bonham Cozens

(It's good to hear from Eve again, following her account of Gemervescence II's first cruise which appeared in Flying Fish 1990/2. Here the Bonham Cozens family are making their way from the British Virgin Islands to Florida via Puerto Rico, the Turks and Caicos Islands and the Bahamas.)

Julie and Jack still find it hard to grasp the concept of large countries or continents being joined up together. We live in France -- a big island -- and often visit Britain -- a small island -- and we always seem to sail our 50ft cutter Gemervescence from island to island whether in the Mediterranean, Atlantic or Caribbean. The question is always: `what's the name of the next island we're going to?' whether this is Ithaca, Spain, Terceira, Venezuela, St Kitts or indeed the USA. And in a sense, on this watery planet, they are right.

Michael and I, however, have evolved another theory. Sailing is not about voyaging from one place to the next at all -- it is an inevitable progression from one interesting problem to another. Problems can hold as much challenge and interest for the sailor as the ports of call or the variety of anchorages. Just like islands, they're all so different: problems can be big or little, serious or insignificant, they can sometimes safely be ignored but they are often infuriatingly intrusive, some become arduous time-consuming tasks, some produce moments of immense hilarity, others elicit flashes of brilliance or lateral thinking in their resolution, a few are frustratingly intransigent, and there is the rare problem that is totally insoluble. And what a wealth of genius, sweat and colourful language they produce! And when solved, how sweet the success, the relaxation afterwards and the well-deserved drink! I don't know why we go sailing at all, one might say -- the endeavour in the problem-solving area is just as great.

But go sailing we did. This time, we set off on Christmas Day '93 from Spanishtown in Virgin Gorda, where Gemervescence had been laid up since May. There was just the family aboard -- Michael and I, and Julie and Jack (then seven and five) whose school term in Brittany had ended on 21 December. Still a bit jet-lagged, we had a brief sail round to Drake's Anchorage in North Sound where we ate our traditional Christmas dinner, including brussel sprouts smuggled in from France. It is such a beautiful place, anchored inside the reef with all the myriad sea colours around us. We had spent Easter there in 1990.

We were to spend two weeks relaxing in the Virgins before setting off on the long haul northwards some 1400 miles to Fort Lauderdale. There comes a time when the education of one's children and the necessity for unbroken schooling puts a limit on one's cruising activities, and this would be the last time that we could take ours out of school for two months. Hence the need to get the boat out of a winter-sailing zone to a summer-holiday temperate zone. The Eastern American seaboard was the obvious solution.

After a visit to the Bitter End across North Sound we sailed out to Anegada. It was unsettled and windy -- rain squalls with very poor visibility -- not a good idea approaching a low island renowned for its reefs, shallows and shipwrecks. But luckily it blew through just before it got too shallow and we got too worried. We anchored off the West End in total solitude, off a lovely beach where we hoped to find turtles (no luck). The next day we visited Setting Point, anchoring in the entrance between reefs as we draw too much to approach closer, and went for a long walk and joined in a noisy Garage Opening Party!

On 31 December we had a good rolly blowy downwind jaunt past the north coast of Tortola to the East End of Little Jost Van Dyck, anchoring off idyllic Sandy Spit with lots of other craft who gradually all departed, leaving us in perfect peace by sunset. We dined in the cockpit on roast lamb, toasted French and then English New Year, and were fast asleep in our bunks two hours before Caribbean New Year, totally oblivious to the wild party going on three miles away. New Year's Day was calm -- no wind and no sound -- so we motored round to Great Harbour, which might have been better described as Great Hangover after an invasion of what the locals estimated to have been 5000 partygoers and 500 boats (most of which had departed before our arrival, thank goodness). We went ashore to see the aftermath, but the locals were welcoming as ever though somewhat exhausted. We decided to toast in 1994 with a drink in Foxy's Bar, a place of renowned casual charm. Julie and Jack darted off to explore the shore and to play in the hammocks. Our dilemma was to keep an eye on them whilst coping with the `Painkillers' and `Foxykillers' -- diabolical rum drinks. Later on there seemed to be an amusing problem of logistics -- where was our dinghy? The children couldn't understand why we found it so difficult to locate. And why is it that outboard engines seem to take fiendish glee in refusing to start when enveloped in alcohol fumes?

The next day was windy and we took advantage of this to sail round the western end of Tortola and across to Little Bay, Peter Island, a very tranquil anchorage, before going on next day to Road Town, where we tied up in Village Cay -- the only marina we visited apart from Virgin Gorda where we had started and Fort Lauderdale where we ended up. Not only do we not care for marinas but on this cruise the few there were had too little depth for us. We decided to do a big shop in Tortola, get laundry done and obtain gas. This latter always seems to cause a problem in the Caribbean. We have Camping Gaz bottles which one is obliged to get filled with a mixture of butane and propane (sounds lethal but seems to work). The problem is in finding the place to get this done and knowing the erratic opening hours, so naturally we went to the wrong depot, and were told to got to a certain garage but by this time their lorry had left for the other end of the island with the bottles to fill so we were delayed another day, and so on. The joys of cruising!

We met up with friends of ours, Rosie and Peter, who were staying with a relative in the hills and very kindly helped us with the provisioning in their car. They joined us for a day and night aboard and we took them over to Norman Island, where we anchored in the Bight and once again enjoyed the wonderful snorkelling off the Caves -- wall to wall fish! It was fortuitous that they came with us, because we had to re-wire the autohelm wind-vane which had been disconnected (a polite term -- the wires had been hacked through) whilst in the travel-hoist being lifted in. There was a mass of tiny fiddly wires to marry up and connect, and Peter turned out to be an electrical engineer. Even so it took him and Michael many hours, so without Peter we would not have had the convenience of being able to wind steer with the autohelm.

The left the next day and we sailed on to Coral Bay, St John's, where we briefly met Tom and DL Lemm on Papillon OCC. We lunched at Skinny Legs Bar, encountering some interested archetypal cruising sailors and liveaboards. Our last port of call in the US Virgins was Great St James Island of St Thomas, where we spent a night in Christmas Cove, arriving after dark but with no difficulty as St Thomas was, as usual, lit up like a Christmas tree. We felt no desire to go there. Bright lights and family cruising don't go together.

Westward ho! We had a superb sail, thirty-five miles in 4 1/2 hours, to Culebra in the Passage Islands between the US Virgins and Puerto Rico (but administered by the latter). A slightly tricky entrance led us into a wonderful natural harbour where we anchored right off the town. The next day, 9 January, was a Sunday so naturally there was no chance of checking in. We wandered around and gravitated -- as other sailors seemed to do -- to the Dinghy Dock bar on the waterside. Here we bumped into an American called Sean whose son Rossi had been to Julie's fourth birthday party in Martinique. It never ceases to amaze me how often one runs into the same people.

I forgot to mention another dreaded problem which had reared its ugly head during the previous fortnight -- the forward heads! Originally we had electric pumps fitted to both heads. (I know, don't laugh, don't jeer -- electric pumps are useless -- you knew that already). We had already thrown out the electric pump in the aft heads and replaced it with a good old manual pump, and now Michael spent a happy four hours re-plumbing the forward one, battling with writhing hose and recalcitrant jubilee clips in an overheated, confined space. I took the children over to the rolling surf of beautiful Flamenco Beach, hitching a ride with friendly locals. After all, I spend many hours sweating in the galley, and Michael is a fair man. Over a well-earned rum punch that evening we decided that the Passage Islands were well named!

We set off at dawn next day to make sure of covering the sixty miles to San Juan, Puerto Rico, before dark, sailing through the Herman's Passage and along the north coast of the island in a big swell. We entered the harbour, passing to port the impressive Castello de Morro ( which we later visited on foot), and then encountered an unusual problem. A large oil barge had foundered on the reef outside, there was oil everywhere in the water and US Coastguards were towing booms around. We went on in -- we had to, since we were meeting up with two friends who were to join us. We managed to get up a part of the St Antonio Channel, but were prohibited from reaching the Club Nautico (our arranged meeting point) by a boom across the channel which the Coastguards told us we could `No Way' get through.

We talk on VHF to the Coastguards and the Port Captain and listen to a lot of jargon from the Marine Safety Office who are co-ordinating the `Response' to the `Oil Spill'. The `Command Post' tells its `Modules' to get into `Skimming Mode' and asks whether they have the `Capability' to `Rove'. We collapse in hysterics. We, however, cannot rove, and anchor for the night just in front of the boom in the midst of this huge, oily, brightly lit city.

The next day, 11 January, we are allowed by the port authority to go alongside at the Pan American Dock where we are wharfed/dwarfed between a naval vessel and a giant cargo barge. It is hot, humid and thundery and when we look at the side of our lovely, once white Gem, a certain depression of spirits descends upon us. It was later to take us many hours with aching arms to get her clean again. We managed to make contact with Trisha Neri, who found us, and next day Kitty Hampton OCC turned up. I had already spent the statutory few hours with the officials making entry (Michael is normally a very patient man but he has a problem dealing with customs, port authorities and immigration -- he loathes the whole rigmarole).

Here in the heat and dust we did another huge shopping expedition by taxi. Food in Puerto Rico is very reasonable and we had been warned that the Bahamas were very expensive. We have a large chiller (not quite as cold as a refrigerator) and I have an eternal battle with Michael as to whether this is primarily for food or booze. In this heat he usually wins. We drink cold beers and the vegetables rot.

After a visit to the old city which was really interesting, we decided to get on our oily way before dawn the next day. We had a fast sail to the western end of Puerto Rico and would have covered the seventy-six miles even quicker had we not had a three hour `evolution' -- something along the lines of: wind increasing -- up staysail -- pole back No 2 yankee -- try to reef yankee -- jammed furler -- down yankee -- unclog furler (a long job -- you know the sort of thing) -- up yankee -- gybe main -- take down pole -- put up other one -- gybe yankee -- get going at last -- cups of tea! I ducked out of a lot of this as I was giving the usual morning lessons to Julie and Jack, and Michael had the luxury of two crew on deck.

The next day we spent quietly at anchor some way off a fine beach not far from the town of Aguadilla. Since we were leaving the next day for the Turks and Caicos we didn't feel like pumping up our large dinghy, and anyway, our modest outboard might not have coped well with upwind the return journey to Gem. However, we all wanted to go ashore and have a walk. How to solve this problem? Brilliantly. Michael swam ashore towing one of the longest warps, upon which I attached fenders at intervals, then I joined another long warp with more fenders, until we had a floating line the whole way -- some 300 yards. Then we could all swim ashore, even Jack who was still in arm bands, and return safely against the wind pulling ourselves along the line.

The following day we set off the 300 odd miles to Salt Cay in the Turks. It was hot and sunny with a light breeze -- it couldn't last, and it didn't. By the next morning Capo Viejo Francis in the Dominican Republic was visible to port -- in the first twenty-four hours we covered 155 miles and the wind steadily increased and backed. By mid-day we had a full gale with rain. We thought it would abate by nightfall but it didn't, and our log reads: `unspeakably wet -- rain and spray, big seas and lots of wind -- no moon -- pitch black -- very unpleasant'. It happens to us all and we wearily accepted it, but were worried that we were going too fast and would arrive whilst it was still dark. But too little sail (main only, third reef) meant that we rolled a lot. The GPS in conjunction with the depth sounder certainly enabled us to make a more direct passage, but even so we could not risk closing the islands and their many shoals until dawn. So we put the brakes on poor Gem.

We anchored off Salt Cay at 0720 in the lee of the island, hugely relieved and very tired. It was Kitty's birthday, but the swell was still so great that we could not attempt to get ashore through the surf that day. So we had a birthday party aboard, and the next day had an enchanting time on this remote and eccentric island. We discovered the Mount Pleasant Guest House -- a `three hammock hotel' -- where we had an amusing lunch alongside overweight or emaciated members of the Waterhogs of Arkansas, an American Diving Club. The owner of the hotel had autographed letters and photos of Eugene O'Neill, and a fine collection of antique pewter. We visited the `Smith's Shopping Centre' (one small hut) to buy bread, Jack did cartwheels with a local girl, and we swam amongst the ruins of the old salt works. Quite surreal -- or perhaps that was on account of the pina coladas. Anyway, Salt Cay is a special place.

At Grand Turk we anchored in crystal clear water off the Governor's Beach near the Dock. We dinghied over to the beach to snorkel and to see the `Wall' -- about 200 yards offshore where the bottom drops suddenly from about 30ft to forever. It is somewhat unnerving to swim above the edge and see the bottomless depths. We were told the diving around there was unsurpassed.

We moved the next day to anchor off Cockburn Town outside the reef, which proved very rolly. Grand Turk is a quiet place with few people about but it has a sleepy charm -- the museum is excellent and really worth a visit if one is interested in marine archaeology and shipwrecks. Michael and I dined at the Turks Head Inn, the oldest pub on the island, whilst Kitty and Trisha had a rolly evening aboard with the children. When it came to finding our way in the dinghy back through the gap in the reef in the dark I rather wished we had stayed aboard too!

We then sailed across the Turks Island Passage to South Caicos on the edge of the Caicos Bank, a huge shallow area of cays, coral heads, sandbanks and rocks some sixty miles by fifty miles and surrounded by reefs. Gemervescence draws 8ft 6in and this was to cause us problems, seriously limiting the places we could approach. South Caicos was geologically very different from the Turks with a good natural harbour through the reef, but the bottom was flat white rock. Not good holding! The water in its pale translucent colours was wonderful, though the settlement itself was rather tatty and sad. There was the usual unfinished derelict hotel, and stories of drug smuggling. Michael had a problem with the engine, which seemed to be missing and then surging -- was it the fuel pump or air in the lines? He bled the system, without much luck, and then did a complete oil change for the generator and the engine. These things take time.

North and East Caicos Islands and Grand Caicos were not possible for a yacht of our draught, and we would have to sail all the way round the Caicos Bank to get to West Caicos and Providenciales -- 120 miles instead of fifty miles across. This made it an overnight trip so we decided to overhaul the boat torches. These are a frequent problem. Michael has a theory that all marine torches have a lifespan of less than six months. We tried for hours to get them going (new batteries, checking bulbs, connections etc), and then we threw them down in exasperation, only to discover them an hour later beaming brightly on the shelf. There is an illogicality about them that drives one mad -- how does one teach them to be reliable? Or is it WE that lack confidence?

Needless to day we had another gale overnight, and everything got soaked again which was irritating. Again we went too fast and had to slow up. Kitty kept saying that she hadn't come to the Caribbean for weather like this and she had never had to try to sail slowly before. It went against her competitive instincts! She was good for morale though, and kept the children entertained with the banal some competition -- chortling along with `How much is that doggie ...' and `The sun has got his hat on ..' in the pouring rain. We arrived too early to attempt the West Sand Road passage across the banks from the southern end of West Caicos to Provo, and would have to wait until the sun rose high enough to see the shallows and coral heads. The next problem was Mutiny! Kitty and I absolutely refused to anchor off the rocky rolly shore of West Caicos as the skipper wished. It seemed to us quite insane, so we hove-to. To conciliate Michael, and to put some energy back into all of us after a tiring night, Kitty cooked an enormous breakfast for everyone.

We set off in fine spirits for the entrance to the banks, and watched with hideous fascination as the water turned from deep indigo to royal blue to pale turquoise in the space of a few hundred yards. We sailed the fifteen mile passage across, and it was truly frightening. After three miles the depth was around 5 metres, and for the final ten miles we had an actual depth of 4 metres (Gemervescence draws 2.5 metres). I stood in the bows and pointed out the coral heads, and Trisha kept her eyes on the depth sounder. It was the first time we had done this and it was nerve wracking, but we were to get used to it in the Bahamas. We anchored in Sapodilla Bay in company with some thirty other yachts, which was a pleasant change as we had seen only the occasional sailing vessel since The Virgins and Culebra.

January 24, Providenciales : Jack's Birthday. Presents for our six-year-old and birthday cake were the bright spots in an otherwise frustrating and rainy day. We needed diesel and water (the last water we had managed to obtain had been in Puerto Rico), but there was no way we could get to any of the `marinas', and indeed approaching South Dock beyond Sapodilla Point proved a problem. The local fishermen said there would be plenty of water alongside (why are locals, who must know the depths, so misleading?) but when we got down to 2.6 metres we called it off, and the only way we could get near was to hang off the end of the dock. We achieved diesel, but it took another day and a return visit to get water delivered in a tanker. Expensive, too! Little did we realise that we would be unable to get alongside any dock for another month, and that water would be lugged in jerry cans from now on.

The next day Kitty had to leave a dawn to fly home to the UK. We were sorry she had not had better weather, but her strength, experience and joie de vivre had been invaluable. We then spent a couple of days exploring the island and meeting up with a friend, Richard Syme, who has spent many years in Provo and was one of the first to see the potential for developing this very pretty island. Indeed the place is totally different from any of the other islands, with its modern hotels, sophisticated restaurants and flourishing offices, even though some of the new development is still very raw. Much of the vegetation inland is scrub and cactus, but the beaches and reefs are truly magnificent. Richard advised us to snorkel off Smiths Reef where we spotted two eagle manta rays lazily wafting past -- so exciting!

On 27 January we crept back across the banks to the deeper water off West Caicos, and at dusk said goodbye to the Turks and Caicos and headed northwards towards the Bahamas by the silvery light of the moon. 129 miles and some twenty-nine hours later we anchored in deserted Jamaica Bay, Acklins Island. We went ashore for a swim and walk and saw only the red wreck of a fishing boat, the St Jean Baptiste, who also came to a sticky end! Then on past Fortune Cay to Crooked Island and a very bouncy anchorage with coral heads all around. This island is a haven for Seventh Day Adventists and is more affluent -- I wonder why? There were some nice houses, and airstrip and the usual defunct hotel. We even saw another yacht, a rare occurrence in the southern Bahamas, and he was rolling worse than us. After a sleepless night we set off for Long Island, our last sail with Trisha who did much of the helming. We covered forty-three miles in under seven hours. The entrance to the bay at Clarence Town was a bit hairy with lots of breakers on either side initially concealing the way through, but once in it was lovely, although we had to anchor half a mile off the settlement, still in shallow water!

We really liked Long Island -- the people were very genuine and kind and everything was very English in an old-fashioned way. The `town' was charming and the island very attractive -- well named too, as it's seventy-five miles long and only four miles wide. There is one road, called the Queen's Highway, which is full of potholes (it hadn't been repaired for twenty-five years, and whilst having lunch at the Dew Drop Inn we heard about the current inquiry and indictment of corrupt ex-government officials who were accused of embezzling millions of dollars for foreign aid over the years since independence). We hired a battered car and went exploring, visiting caves and lagoons, Julie and Jack collecting starfish in the shallow waters and gorging themselves on ice cream. On 31 January we took Trisha to the airstrip at Deadman's Cay (the names around here are so marvellous) and we were all very sorry to see her go. Another friend, Claudia, was unable to join us from Switzerland so we were on our own again.

Another problem -- the generator had packed up, and although we could run the main engine this too sounded somewhat rough, so Michael thought he should try to get the generator going as a second string. After a whole day at it he managed to get it going -- hooray. We celebrated with lunch at the Harbours Rest on the quay -- cracked conch for us and chicken for the children, with salad and Kalik beer (very good drunk from the bottle with a wedge of lime jammed down the neck!). Then Michael humped water back to Gem while the children and I built a `house' on the rocks nearby and swam off the beach.

On 3 February we had an upwind sail to a small island called Rum Cay and then found ourselves down-current, giving us a long haul to get round and inside the reef where we anchored in only 4 metres. The next day, after wrestling with lessons in the heat, we went ashore to find ourselves in a very small, pretty island with a simplicity and natural charm not dissimilar to Jost Van Dyck. We walked along to the abandoned Diving Hotel whose demise some seven years ago must have been a sad blow to the community, and then ate a delicious fish lunch at Dolores Wilson's restaurant where we happened to encounter Jack Albert, the Commissioner (on his monthly visit from San Salvador, in company with the doctor and the policeman -- obviously no crime or ill-health here!). He seemed incongruous in his suit and tie, but was full of gleaming teeth and charm and seemed pleased to meet our son, another Jack.

We decided to sail out to San Salvador Island and after a fine and fast sail anchored in turquoise and lemon water over sand, watched a huge black manta ray swim below us, and drank cool white wine. We decided that we had better `clear in' to the Bahamas, having been there for over a week, so we contacted Customs and Immigration and an official came down from the airport and met us in a bar to do the necessary paperwork -- delightfully casual. San Salvador is full of history, so we decided to hire another elderly car, this time from super-entrepreneur Dorette who runs everything. Off we went, past the Club Med and the airport to Graham's Harbour and a wonderful old lighthouse at Dixon Hill. Here we were taken round by Brian the lighthouse keeper, and enthralled by the beautifully polished brass and gleaming machinery -- it was a kerosene light dating from 1837, and the view from the top was superb. After lunch at the Riding Rock Inn we went south to French Bay, where we saw some local lads baiting and trying to catch sharks -- off the jetty! When people tell me that sharks never come inside the reef and swimming is quite safe I shall always remember the salutary sight of those monsters thrashing around a few yards off the shore. And finally we visited Columbus' Landing. Yes, this is the real one (we saw so many places that claimed to be where Columbus landed at some time), documented and monumented -- 1492! It was good to see it.

And so to what was probably the most beautiful place we visited: Conception Island. A fine day -- left a dawn and arrived for lunch after a fast forty-five miles. We cautiously worked our way round the reefs and rocks to anchor on the lee side in the most perfect bay -- two miles of virgin unspoilt beach with a tiny islet (West Cay) at the north end. The water was clear and cool and the island green and uninhabited. A very special, very peaceful place, even with a crowd of four other yachts!

We try to do some route planning, but this is difficult because of our draught. We realise that the Exumas, the Eleutheras and the Abacos and Cays are not possible without great risk. Deep keeled yachts and the Bahamas don't go together! Whilst I try to work out where we can go, Michael confronts yet another minor problem -- the shower pump has clogged up and needs stripping down. Also various cabin and cupboard doors need easing, so out come the tools and our versatile Mr Fixit gets to work, aided by his daughter. I am out of this league so I revert to type and bake bread and an apricot crumble. Jack assists me and becomes Monsieur Champignon the Chef. Later on a really good snorkel and a farewell swim, to leave at dawn on Friday 11 February for a speedy sail (it's always windy here -- 25 knots plus) covering the thirty-five miles to the south-west tip of Cat Island before noon, where we anchor in 5 metres as close in as we can get -- about two miles offshore!

We have a rendezvous with our third crew member, Sue Haden Taylor, in the north of Cat Island, so sail up its lee the next day in good sunlight avoiding the shoals off Alligator Point, and make an anxious but controlled approach to land across very shallow banks, with me in the bows spotting coral heads clear and dark against the pale sand. Unusually we manage to anchor off a beach close to a small, attractive Bahamian settlement -- Arthurstown. No other sailing boats of course. We go ashore and encounter a rowdy game of baseball in full swing on the village green. Sue arrives the following day, tired and pale but in good spirits. She has cruised these waters before in her own boat, Capriccio.

The next morning, 14 February, we are woken by Julie and Jack with homemade Valentines. A projected early start to yet another island is foiled by yet another problem. Sails all ready, with good sunlight above to enable easy passage through the coral heads, the windlass decides to play up and gives forth ghastly graunching sounds as I use it. We stop horrified -- our Francis windlass is an important piece of kit. We have a heavy CQR and always let out a lot of 5/16 inch chain. We spend the morning taking it all to bits and checking it out, but discover that there is little we can do because the problem seems to be in the bearing, which is inside the sealed box, jammed shut. We dare not break into it as then the windlass might not go at all, and at least it is operable for the present. We reassemble it and gingerly weigh anchor, but with the delay the sun has gone making our passage across the banks a bit nasty.

We head for Little San Salvador, a small uninhabited island between Cat Island and the southern tip of Eleuthera, where we anchor (wincing at the grinding sounds emanating from the windlass) in a beautiful crescent bay in company with three other yachts. The next day is overcast with a stronger wind. It becomes greyer and mistier -- we are in for the classic `norther' which can take a few days to blow through, so here we stay -- for three days. Who needs to go out in weather like this? We read, relax and do jobs (I am behind with my tasks, which include servicing winches, so I get stuck in with that whilst Sue amuses the children), with the odd rainy foray ashore for a bracing walk. The wind increases to gale force but abates somewhat the next day. We really want to go now, so under triple-reefed main and staysail we leave our haven and sail over to Eleuthera, where we carefully creep into Cape Eleuthera `marina' but are unable to approach the pontoons. Instead we tie up alongside a crumbling dock just inside the entrance. We even manage to get water. It makes a pleasant change from being at anchor, though scrambling ashore across a rickety plank is a bit daunting.

After a couple of days (including a drive around and lunch at the `luxurious' Cotton Bay Club) we decided to push on. We had been chatting to a couple of `experienced reef pilots' who assured us categorically that even with our draught there would be no problem getting through the Davis Channel at half-tide or higher to cross the Bight of Eleuthera to Governors Harbour. We tried -- and nearly got ourselves into a very nasty situation. We were right in the middle of the channel when bump, crunch! There was little wind, so we put on the engine and tried to motor out of it. Scrunching and scraping, we seemed to be hemmed in by coral shallows in all directions. Then I had an idea: I put on a mask and dived over the side. I could see the problem perfectly -- we had bumped over a ridge and were in a little saucer with a few inches below the keel and no obvious way out around us. But there was a little crack in the rim of the saucer through which we could slip out, and I directed Michael as he cautiously edged through it. We were free, and we couldn't get out of that beastly channel soon enough, breathing a sigh of relief when we reached deeper water.

So it was to be the long way round -- back south the thirty-odd miles to Eleuthera Point (stopping for a few hours off Bannerman Town in company with a huge cruise ship, the Crown Princess, and about 2000 passengers being ferried back and forth to the purpose-built palm-fringed manicured beach) and then right round the windward side of this very beautiful ninety mile long island.

There was nowhere in the north of Eleuthera where we could possibly attempt landfall with any safety, so we decided to go across to the Berry Islands, a small chain lying between Andros Island and Great Abaco Island and to the north-west of Nassau. The latter we had decided to avoid for a variety of reasons: little depth, little tranquillity, oversophisticated, overcrowded and overdeveloped. We decided to get the children on watch on this 155 mile leg, which they very much enjoyed, and we even got the spinnaker up! But the high point was spotting a pair of whales blowing and lazily roaming past. We entered Little Harbour Cay (about half way down the Berry Island chain) and anchored just in the lee of Frozen Cay -- as ever our manoeuvring space was very limited. Although the depth was only 3.5 metres we could hardly see the bottom -- the water was much cloudier in the northern Bahamas and gone was that wonderful translucency. We were rather sad at its loss. Nevertheless we explored by dinghy up into the mangroves and discovered one house, occupied by the Darville family. There were a few other yachts and we were seeing more and more motor cruisers.

After a couple of days we sailed up to Great Harbour, anchoring in the centre just south of Great Stirrup Cay. It was peaceful although in the distance we could see two cruise ships, one just the other side of the island with its superstructure sitting incongruously on the top of island vegetation! We began to feel very strongly that we had left the natural simplicity of the `Far-Out Islands' behind and were approaching the smarter, wealthier end of the Bahamas. We knew which we preferred.

Time was running out. It was 25 February and there was an aeroplane to catch in the USA in early March, so we decided to leave out the sophisticated central section of Grand Bahama Island (which apart from Freeport would have been difficult, anyway) and go straight to West End, a passage of 101 miles. The weather was a bit unsettled, with black clouds gathering and then dispersing, and the wind suddenly veering and backing, then disappearing altogether.

We were able to get into the disused `commercial dock' next to the Jack Tar Marina, out of bounds for us on depth, and found other yachts were there too. We tied up alongside an old fish auction warehouse. It was pleasantly dilapidated and casual with lots of friendly boat people. The next day was Julie's eighth birthday, and we walked into West End Settlement where there was some sort of fﾐte going on with live music, dancing, stalls etc. Some missionaries gave Julie a book about Noah's Great Big Wooden Boat, and we returned to our ark in time for tea with cake and candles.

By then we had been sailing without much break for nearly two months and inevitably, with little time for maintenance, things began to go wrong (but as usual not with the vital deck gear). The chiller had broken down, we were nearly out of gas, and the generator had packed up again. We decided to ignore these minor problems and wait until Fort Lauderdale to get them fixed. In order to see something of the island outside the immediate vicinity of boat and dock we hired a car and did a bit of exploring -- Freeport, Port Lucaya Resort, the Caverns of the Lucayan National Park, a huge, deserted, unused airport, and miles of impeccably tarmacked roads going nowhere; misdirected aid money, no doubt, squandered here where there was no use for it whilst the road -- the lifeline -- in poor little Long Island far away and forgotten was in appalling condition and had been for years.

And so to Florida. We sailed from the Bahamas on the last day of February, leaving after dark (something we rarely did) to make the ninety-one miles across to Fort Lauderdale an overnight passage. There was 27-30 knots of wind and biggish seas, and we were amazed at the strength of the Gulf Stream and had to head much further south than we had originally calculated. Sue was an excellent helm and enjoyed night sailing so I managed to get some sleep. We entered Fort Lauderdale at about 0900, almost exactly twelve hours after leaving Grand Bahama, and after waiting to get through the Bridge we berthed at Pier 66 Marina having clocked up just over 1500 miles since leaving Virgin Gorda.

Fort Lauderdale is an attractive place -- the Venice of Florida -- and the myriads of canals, waterways and lagoons merely served to reinforce Julie and Jack's conviction that we had reached yet another island. For Michael and I the final problem was to find somewhere safe to leave Gemervescence for a few months, and eventually we found a space to rent alongside a private house in a canal deep enough to take her. We spent a few days decommissioning her, stowing deck gear below and removing the windlass motor to take back to England for an overhaul. Then we flew home, knowing that in May Michael would return to take Gemervescence on up to Norfolk, Virginia, in preparation for a summer cruise in the Chesapeake. Fewer islands, no doubt, but a whole series of new, exciting, stimulating problems to solve.

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