65 straight hours down below on the boat, on a mooring at Warderick Wells, in the Exumas Land and Sea Park.
The weather is our master, and we must obey.
It was the longest we’d been on the boat without a break – without sailing. When we crossed from Florida to the Bahamas, it was three and a half days before we set foot on land, but much of that time, we were topsides, the sails full, taking in the sun and the gentle breeze.
As Aaron studied the weather forecasts for the Exumas, he saw the predictions for the front – first the winds were going to be in the 30s, then the models boosted it to gusts in the 40s. We knew when it was going to hit, and had an idea of for how long it would stick around. We were mentally prepared for being tucked in.
The added challenge was the fact that we were in the middle of a connectivity dead zone. No cell signal. No Wi-Fi. No Internet. No streaming. Nothing but the videos we already owned and the chatter on the VHF radio. It was a whole new level of extended isolation.
It would make for a much more entertaining story if I told you that the cabin fever set in, that we were bouncing off the walls, that Claire demanded to swim to shore, or that Aaron or I or both of us lost our marbles. It would be understandable. 65 hours is A LOT of time in a small space, especially without the ability to venture further than the cockpit enclosure up top. (With sustained winds of 30-35 knots, walking anywhere on the deck was treacherous.)
The morning of the third day, I was definitely ready to get off the boat and stretch my legs. But truthfully, I could have managed another day. Really, we did just fine. A few days that weren’t packed to the gills with sailing and setting anchor and dinghy rides and hikes and swimming and snorkeling, was a welcome change. We had no idea of exhausted we were.
We did school time with Claire in the morning, as usual. Claire and I had marathon reading sessions and she and Aaron built epic Lego villages. Aaron and I each had a list of boat projects that had been pushed aside or put on hold for shore excursions, and we were able to take the time needed to attend to them patiently.
I read a book in a day and a half and baked a pie from scratch, down to the crust itself, not because I’m opposed to premade crusts, but simply because I don’t have access to any. And yes, we watched movies – but mostly after Claire went to sleep. To my complete amazement, she asked for videos less on the days we were stuck down below than she does in any other circumstance.
One thing that can definitely wreck the equilibrium in an instant is a bad mood, and Aaron and I made extra efforts to be patient and polite, with ourselves and Claire. We also made efforts to switch up settings in the space we do have down below – reading and playing with Claire in her room, doing meals and school in the salon, setting up movies and stuffed animal snuggles in our aft cabin, and escaping to the enclosed cockpit to read and/or enjoy a cup of coffee. It’s amazing how much these simple changes in surroundings can reset your mood.
The one challenge I will tell you, however, is that we were in a serious state of water conservation. We picked up the mooring ball two days before the blow set in, with our aft water tank full and our forward tank about halfway. But in those first two days, we all showered after swimming. We washed off our snorkeling gear. I did laundry. Nothing crazy, but all things that take up a considerable amount of water.
In the mooring field with the winds so kicked up, the water wasn’t clear enough to run the watermaker without severely clogging our filters. So we kept an eye on the tanks, and about a day after the winds started, we were low. We made sure we had plenty to drink and I was economical in my usage for cooking and cleaning.
But showering was not an option. By the time we were able to get the watermaker back online, it had been three days. Luckily, when I provisioned back in the States, I bought baby wipes for these occasions – if our watermaker ever quit altogether in a place where we couldn’t get water, or we weren’t able to run it. Johnson & Johnson to the rescue.
These cold fronts seem to be a semi-regular occurrence in the Bahamas, at least for this time of year, and I’m sure our boat seclusion will happen again, probably soon. But rather than see these times as annoyances, I’m starting to see them as signs that we can really do this, this lifestyle, long term. These extended cold fronts can break cruisers, unable to mentally cope with the time being “stuck” down below, or frustrated that their travel timeline is delayed.
Aaron is vigilant about checking the immediate and extended forecasts every morning, often multiple times a day, keeping an eye on these developing cold fronts days before they hit and making sure we’re in the safest place for the blow. I make sure we have plenty of food for tasty meals and think through things to squash the cabin fever when it creeps up.
And then we just settle in down below and take advantage of the break from adventuring to recharge. We have no schedule. We have no timeline. We have nothing but time, together.