Steve the Magnificent and leaving Miami

If there is one guy you want to know in Coconut Grove, It’s Steve Visconti. This extremely nice gentleman fixed our Yamaha 8hp (the one that tried to take Wayne’s leg off, if you remember) for a pittance. He diagnosed all the problems, cleaned everything out, ordered and installed a new hub and prop, and the darn thing works beautifully! He did this on his own time as a favor to us at the request of Bill Beavers. The guy is a prince. He is a compact and muscular guy with deep brown eyes and a moderately long brown ponytail. He looks bad-assy enough that you would not want to cross him, but he is just the nicest guy. He is efficient in every sense, does not waste time, words, or resources. But when the circling helicopters in the previous blog turned out to be monitoring a boat that burned to the water line, he called us as soon as he got out of work to make sure we were alright. They don’t make a lot of guys like that. If you need your outboard fixed in the Miami area, you can email me and I’ll give you his phone number. You can’t go wrong with Steve. You can buy his cute little girl some clothes (preferably pink) if you want to do something a little extra for him. I sure had fun doing this.

Steve brought our motor back to us on Friday noontime, and by 2pm we were on our way to No Name harbor. We located our exit channel, ran all the way out and then ran it in reverse marking the waypoints for the morning’s escape in the dark. There is a playground of flashing lights out at No Name, marking several different channels. You really want to hit the right one, and at night it can get quite confusing. Having done all we could, including obtaining a full tank of diesel plus another 5-gallon jerry can as extra fuel supply, we tucked in for the night. We had discussed our plan with Bill and the boys at the bar: anchor at Nixon’s Harbor at Bimini, then on to the Northwest Channel Light over the banks, then straight away to Nassau – a three day voyage without getting off the boat. In this manner we could clear immigration and customs in Nassau at the marina, and save a lot of time and hassle. We discussed the amount of fuel we would need, and the boys gave us their blessing, stating we should have plenty to make the trip. Just three days to Nassau! And the first part was to be the hardest – crossing the Gulf Stream.

We awoke at 4am Saturday in order to get a 4:30 am start on the day. While Wayne pulled up the anchor, I couldn’t help but get a last look at Stiltsville, a strange little cluster of abandoned houses which were literally built on stilts in Biscayne Bay. The ambient light provided by the city was reassuring and took a bit of angst away from the darkness of our departure. We had obtained weather reports from all resources available to us, and this was to be our glorious 3-day window of light northeast winds and calm waters. Getting out the channel went smoothly, and then we were in the big ocean.

In order to make the crossing and account for the significant northerly current of the Gulf Stream, one must first sail south. We had been advised to sail south to Fowey Rocks – as we had last year – and then turn east, sailing about 115 degrees heading to make 90. Very soon after our turn, we felt the grip of the Gulf Stream. The waves are jumbled as the current moves north and the wind (if any direction other than south) pushes the top of the water in a different direction. The predicted wave heights were 2-4 feet, which is not too bad, and the slight NE wind would actually let us put up our main and give us more stability. Of great note is that, sailing of this kind is about 99% of the time an act which involves running the motor (whom we call “Max”) at just under top speed and adjust whatever sail we can put up according to the conditions. Getting the opportunity to put the main sail up offers not only a little boost in speed but also an important aid to Cassie so that she can cut through the water with less rolling around. Although the wind was predicted to increase that afternoon, the crossing got smoother and smoother as we cleared the main grip of the Gulf Stream and got closer to Bimini.

Perhaps it is worth remarking upon what this looks and feels like. Leaving Miami takes a long time in that the lights and buildings are visible for miles and miles. Even as we made our turn at Fowey Rocks, the sun broke upon the eastern horizon, lighting the glass facades of Miami Beach with a new and different glow than their nighttime neon. Seeing the sun rise and sailing straight for it brings a sense of relief and hope, as a couple of hours’ sailing in the dark into the great unknown is always a little unsettling. Then, finally, Miami disappears and there is nothing but ocean and an occasional other vessel. Wayne and I had both taken some anti-nausea precautions, and had absolutely no problem enjoying the day despite a lumpy ride. Our first sight of the islands was a cause for celebration – a few ragged palm trees punching up out of the vast blue blankness. The closer we got to Bimini, the calmer the water became and we were on the hook by 3pm. This was record crossing time and about the easiest one we’ve experienced so far. The gorgeous color of the water and view of the scattered cays to our south, all under a fair-weather sky was a true joy. We settled in for a nice evening and another early am departure.

Sunday morning came easy as we had little difficulty leaving the anchorage and following our waypoints to the Northwest Channel. This channel is the most frequently used passage from Bimini/Cat/Gun Cay to Nassau. It is usual to encounter several boats along the way, as well as the occasional big container ship or other commercial vessel. We were surprised at how few boats we saw on this glorious day. We did, however, see a school of dolphins who came to play briefly with our hull and moved on. Always a good omen. We figured we sure pegged the weather window right this time, as the long sail (read: motor running at almost full bore with the main up) was practically smooth and glassy with little wind. Unlike the Gulf Stream crossing, this was a more calm and protected day out in the ocean, as the water is only 2 to 3 meters deep over the whole of the banks. White sand reflected up through the water and endless clear skies resulted in a practically seamless transition from turquoise water to pastel blue sky, the horizon a blur in some far-off place. The sun shone with a strength that rarely is felt in the great white north, and to our great delight our auto-helm was capable of holding the course due to the great calm. We read books, took turns doing little chores and sporadically scanning the great blue vista for other boats or possible hazards. We had planned to anchor by dark, and just about 6 miles shy of the Northwest Channel Marker (just off Mackie Shoals), we threw out the anchor to the setting sun. It could be unnerving to some folks to just throw your anchor out in the middle of the ocean, but there really is no other way to do it and it’s really not too deep at this point.

That night was to be rougher than expected, not at all a replay of the idyllic day. Wayne worked hard to bring the various clanging and banging noises under control, but could do nothing to subdue the rolling of the boat as the wind had picked up and we were no longer on a glassy sea. The waves tossed us side to side and nobody got a lot of sleep that night. Small price to pay for such a heavenly day we thought, we had to get up early anyway for the final push on to Nassau. That
deserves a post of it's own.