Saturday, June 30, 2007

Georgetown, Exuma, to Fowl Cay, Bahamas

3.9 nm
Wind: SE 10-15 knots
Latitude: 23°29.63’N
Longitude: 075°42.43’W
Maximum speed: 3.2 knots (under diesel--didn’t lift sail)
Average speed: 1.9 knots

On the boat today, as we ghosted out past the sand bores and shoals of Elizabeth Harbor, past our friends and acquaintances where they still sat anchored, past the buoys that marked the coral, I was filled with near ecstasy. We actually did it. We upped anchor, we’re staged tonight, with the dinghy on deck, the sunset behind me out the companionway, the delicious candlelight dinner of stuffed cabbage with tomato sauce in my belly. The alarm’s set for 5:30 tomorrow morning, when I’ll double-check the weather and Karl will cook breakfast, and we’ll sail out past the reefs and rocks and shoals of the Exumas, sail away from them forever.

Not that I haven’t loved the Exumas, even loved Georgetown in its own way, for what it’s taught us. We got schooled in Georgetown, with everything that term implies. But I’m always ready for bigger and better things, grander adventures. The itch to move, move, move rests continually under my skin.

I fear I may be dragging Karl along at this stage, especially as our adventure gets more remote. He is the captain, and, as such, is responsible for my safety. Unfortunately, his crew (moi) keeps begging him to take her on riskier outings, outings where he is responsible not only for the boat’s safety but also for the vast majority of the boat’s work--changing filters, bleeding diesels, lugging jugs, reefing and furling sails--all that jazz. I try to keep up, but in some cases I’m just not physically strong enough, and in others I’m not emotionally strong enough to fight to do things that I’m not well-equipped to do and don’t particularly want to do in the first place.

I keep dreaming of the perfect Bahamian island, even though I know we’re en marche now. I’d love to find a spotless stretch of uninhabited white sand, a beautiful reef for fishing and diving, a place we can turn into home for just the two of us for the next couple of months. I know, though, that we have to get to the Dominican Republic, have to get away from the hurricanes, have to find a place to make money, have to keep moving. So we will. But it doesn’t mean that I can’t dream of pink-sand beaches and lobster.

No comments: