Capt Smokes smokes

We are docked at Captain Smokes Marina, Saint George, Bermuda. We arrived in Saint George Harbour at around 1 a.m. Seas near Bermuda were heavy, even on the lee shore, and winds were in the low 20s. On our approach, we checked in with Danny, who sits on a high hill with radar and has a 360 degree view of the seas around this country. He looked us up and determined that we had visited before, and wanted to know if any of the rescue or communication equipment had changed since our last visit. It was a relief not to be interrogated this time, and to not have our arrival micro managed. Rather casually, Danny instructed us to anchor in the quarantine area of Powder Hole (to the port of Hen Island and right after Three Sisters), and proceed to Customs in the morning. After a stressful entry through the Town Cut, we located the anchorage, circled a few times to find the perfect spot, and set the anchor in 30 feet of water. We put out 150 feet of anchor rode. The holding ground is a clay like mud, so a single pull back seemed to set the anchor securely. Like every other perfect spot in which we have ever anchored, as the anchor rode stretches, the spot become less than perfect as we near our neighbors. Anchor light glowing and too tired for words, we opened a terrible bottle of Australian white wine (Jacobs Creek) and congratulated ourselves on a safe voyage. Stupid with exhaustion, we turned off the cabin lights at 3:30.

Michael had us up at the crack of midmorning, and we motored over to Ordinance Island to clear Customs. The dock is very short and accommodates two boats. The winds were howling at 25 knots, and with the boat revved at 1500 RPMs we stood still facing into the SW wind. We had to wait about 45 minutes for an opening. Meanwhile, a fellow with a red shirt and shorts kept motioning to us. Whenever we could hear him, he was screaming at Michael to tell his wife something and motioned to us to move down the dock. We finally determined that he was deranged, ignored his irritating screams, and made a difficult docking maneuver to declare ourselves to the authorities.

Our old friend Bernie met us at Customs, clearly recognizing the boat but asking several times for our names. He told us he had a space available at the marina. Bernie is a wonderful man, but he has serious deficiencies as a dock hand. Paul, the limping sail maker with the parrot, had to yell at him to many times to tie our docking lines tighter.

We entered the office, and the Immigration Officer welcomed us to the Bahamas. We ate up his humor, informing him that Donna was the Captain and Michael was her whipping boy – not that far from the truth. He congratulated Michael on his job status and asked if the interview was difficult and whether there was a lot of competition for the position.

Based on our last visit, we thought that fueling up before we settled in would be a good idea. So, once again we circled the fuel station, waiting for those ahead in the queue. It was an hour before we got to the dock. I know fuel prices have increased, but this boat only takes 37 gallons total, and 129 liters later, I was poorer by $188.

On to Captain Smokes. Because of the wind vane now permanently affixed to the stern, we asked Bernie whether the marina could accommodate us. Boats generally back into the marina and have a plank attached to the stern to use to access land. Bernie said it would be no problem; he would just position the plank over the bow. By the time we made it to the marina, Bernie was long gone to meet his wife for lunch. Tom, the captain of Ticonderoga, met us and helped us thread this boat into the eye of a needle. We squeezed bow forward between to larger sailboats, and with the folks on shore fending off our bow, finally managed to secure two bow lines and one stern line, and settle in for the coming blow.

Captain Smokes was our home for five days on the trip south. Unfortunately, about a month ago, someone tossed a cigarette into the dumpster and the building burned. The shower still works though, and the six vessel marina is full. We secured the plank to the bow, and crawled on our hands and knees to land.

The barometer is now at 1013.9, promising some less fair weather tomorrow. Today’s weather was surprisingly sunny, and we think that the temp was in the high 70’s. The wind made it seem lower. Our coordinates are 32 22.323N 64 40.293W.

Tomorrow will be filled with chores, in preparation for a Wednesday departure. Our exhaustion is deep, but we agree that it is not the type that drains you. There is something about the exhaustion of a trip like this that is replenishing. I hope by Wednesday, my body will agree with my determination, and we will be ready in all ways to set sail to Boston.

Donna & Michael

\