Friday, June 29, 2007

Georgetown, Exuma, Bahamas

0 nm
Wind: E-SE 15-20 knots, scattered showers and thunderstorms

I’m sitting in the boat, in my usual place, at what I call the dining-room table, typing away at the computer. There seems little else to do. In fact, there’s an endless list of things to do, but I feel helpless to accomplish them. I’m annoyed, beyond annoyed, aggravated and angry--that we’re still here, sitting in this little harbor, at our awful anchorage too close to the pink Peace and Plenty complex, too close to the mosquitoes, so far from my ideal vision of what the Bahamas should be.

I woke up this morning at 5:30, my usual routine now that we have the weather radio. Sometimes I just get back in bed, but I was convinced this morning that we could stage. By stage, I mean move to a different anchorage within this harbor, one close to the exit, where we can have a candlelight dinner, move the dinghy on deck, watch the sunset, and then get the heck out of here at six AM the next morning. It’s a brilliant plan, taught to me by the Gentleman’s Guide, my canonical guidebook. So I spent three hours listening to the weather instead of going back to bed--taking shorthand of the National Weather Service’s offshore report for the Southwest Atlantic, then thumbing through the endless list of weather forecasts I’m supposed to be able to get via short-wave: some out of St. Thomas, out of the Virgin Islands, out of San Juan, from Barbados.

Of course, I could get nothing. Not even Chris Parker, the SSB dude everyone hails as God around here, who gives you an individualized forecast for your specific area if you subscribe to his weather service and call in. It’s only really handy if someone calls in from the harbor at which you happen to be anchored. Still, though, I hauled Karl out of his bunk where he was snoring away when one of our acquaintances from a nearby boat came by with a zinc for us, and I made him stay awake through the 11:30 weather, which was the moment of truth.

The weather’s still bad for tomorrow, though. I’ve set our level for leaving at less than five-foot seas, and they’re forecast for six feet for tomorrow. So we’ll stage tomorrow, and leave the next day, I swear. I can’t stay here any longer. Not when countless untouched, exquisite islands await, with vibrant coral reefs and naked white sand beaches.

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