Chub Cay – A Seafarer’s Respite
April 5
We were exhausted after our Bimini to Chub Cay ordeal, but still needed to stay safe at anchor swinging close to the shore and channel, including nasty looking piling markers. I launched Theodore in case we needed to reset the first anchor drop and to set a second anchor off the starboard quarter angled to the bow. These were good sets and we rocked calmly, made dinner, and fell asleep shortly thereafter. By midnight, the wind and waves had veered SW which brought a rogue wave splashing through the starboard port hole into Brian’s quarter berth nest below the helm. I slid the anchor line up to the bow to a smaller angle v-set and that settled us back into a dry and comfortable, swing and rock.
The engine remained uncooperative in the morning. We took Theodore into the marina’s harbour to consult with the fuel dock staff. Chub Cay has a big marina with a clientele that is mostly big boats, sport fishers and super yachts. There were two local mechanics on the island and we arranged to meet them later in the day. I decided to rent a slip for several nights hoping that WW would fire back up or we’d get a tow into the harbour to work on the engine; either way, we could use the calm and secure dock inside to recover from the previous day’s ordeal. There was some trepidation about renting a slip at a private island resort and marina because I hadn’t planned such – this was a fuel stop on our way to anchor out in the cays. Fortunately, the resort had a special rental system for slip owners and I was able to snag an extended stay at Slip 401 for about $30 BSD/night (equivalent to $30 USD). We waited as patiently as we could adjusting to island time and eventually the mechanics, Randy and Wilfred, arrived to the fuel dock and I ferried them out to WW.
The boat was still rocking, but we got to work removing fuel filters, clearing fuel lines, and replacing filters which I had onboard (my redundancy supplies). There was water in the filter collection cups; ergo, the water-in-fuel alarms. The engine remained uncooperative and next we cracked-open the fuel injectors to pump clean fuel through each. There were signs of water in the first two cylinders; ergo, the blue smoke the day before. Still no engine life. We tested possible issues and tried a few tricks to start a diesel engine. Randy and Wilfred were as perplexed as me and Brian (who added his experience on the farm with its diesel machines). I eventually took the boys back to shore to make some calls and overcome some mild sea sickness from the rocking and diesel fumes. They came back late in the day to prod more and use their MacGyvered ‘island multimeter’ which vaguely suggested a lack of resistance which implies no power at the injectors. The engine remained recalcitrant. I had been online too, and we had to concede that most probably, the engine’s computer had shut itself down and only a certified Volvo-Penta technician and computer could overcome the issue. I thanked Randy and Wilfred for their Sunday and dropped them back onshore.
The next few days were spent trying various tricks to spark the engine, e.g., battery switching and boosting, diesel/WD-40 to the breather, but it seemed the engine computer had a stranglehold. We needed that tow into our slip because working on the engine was difficult in the bumpy waters and our location was not ideal. It was a strange situation because the marina staff dodged helping us and the guests we met at the resort offered no help. It is the seafarers’ code of conduct to help one another because life on the water is dangerous, unpredictable, and you will need reciprocation one day; moreover, assistance is the international law. One boat stopped at WW. It was a 22’ open runabout typically found on small lakes and which emerged from behind the cay on its way from Miami to Staniel Cay (the Exumas). At the helm were two sea-doggy looking Italians in floater jackets and shorts with a giant 12-volt water pump and lashed-in jerry cans of fuel. We had seen them a couple days before coming into the fuel dock looking very soggy. It was too rough for them to tow us, but it was an entertaining conversation about their travels. The captain had been in the islands forever and was returning to his job taking care of tourists at the cay. His mate didn’t speak much English or look very seafaring. He appeared locked in a dead focus on surviving the 100 NM ahead. We found them some bits-and-bobs to help them stay afloat and said adieu as they rocked and rolled their way to open water.
The Bahamians working at the resort were trying to help us get into the marina, but they were not the decision-makers. WW seemed to be an irritant to be tolerated, like a housefly at a picnic. After 3 nights we wrangled a short tow from one of the big fishers out for ride on their 50 HP tender who pulled us several hundred metres to the established, safe anchorage off the resort’s beach. We remained at anchor for the rest of the week.
Theodore was in full operational mode. We dinghied (a verb: to dinghy) in to Slip 401 to access the resort’s power and wifi, laundry, showers, and enjoy some food and beverages. We shrugged off the “No Wake” zone warnings in the marina motoring in at top speed for the 2.5 HP Suzuki. Theodore’s original motor was a 9.9 HP 4-stoke Yamaha, but I couldn’t lift that bad boy on my own. I think we were a WTF topic of conversation among the big boaters given their stares from above and secretive whispers on the dock. We dinghied around the cay exploring beaches, mangroves, and creeks with Green Sea turtles (Chelonia mydas). We went fishing for Bonefish (Albula vulpes) and Conch (Aliger gigas), and dove on the deep reefs offshore. There is more to tell that I’m saving for the next story.
Then on the day Brian flew home and with a big storm approaching from the west, I hooked a tow into the marina. I convinced my new local friends that the pending storm could drag WW onto the resort’s main beach, they chatted with the manager, and within the hour, Mike and Pete had a small, flats fishing boat with WW on its hip easing her into the marina. It was a show for the big boat folks looking down on us which included me and Theodore fulfilling her tugboat dreams as we guided and pushed WW into her slip.
Slip 401 is in the far back corner of the big boat marina and WW looked a tiny oddity tucked back there. Many of the boats were pulling tenders the same size as WW. I didn’t care, particularly that first night because the storm was a doozy forcing me to add several dock lines by early morning. I tried to make friends with big boaters, but they were strange cliques, edgy and reclusive, which I attributed to my obvious non-membership in either an American fraternity - the sport fishers - or the financial sect of super yachting. These folks were a collection of owners and hired captains and crews (all male). There were a few females at the resort who seemed to be the captains’/owners’ significant others. The sport fishers were fishing hard, expending lots of fuel, ice, and bait, plus consuming electrical power at the dock everyday, and catching some big fish. They moved among the cay resorts chasing trophy fish, and as best I could surmise, for no particular reason. The big yachts were mostly ‘for hire’ vessels with a crew. I rarely met the hiring folks and I suspect they were happiest onboard, although spending days at a marina dock seemed odd. These captains were eclectic: either too young to be captaining or old and crochety. It was a collection of interesting people and personalities. While my opinions about the big boats may be jaded, they were generating important incomes for the locals. However, as Gary the local ecowarrior proclaimed, the benefits came with substantial costs to the environment and fisheries, and without respect for the local people.
There were a few smaller cruisers and sailboats too, i.e., 40’ and bigger. This crowd was easy to engage because most of them were like me, cruising the islands to enjoy the beauty that is the Bahamas. I met cruising folks from all over including Canada, some were Loopers and others longtime liveaboards. They were happy to share stories and offer advice.
Being at the dock allowed a more comfortable access to the engine room (‘room’ being a misnomer). I was, however, resigned to the reality of my situation - I could neither convince an engine technician to fly to the island nor get my engine started on my own. Some boats in the marina had marine engineers in their crews, but none stopped by to assist. Fortunately, I had planned for potential, major challenges on the water by enrolling in three boat towing services and Sea Tow was working on a plan to get WW back to Florida. Captain Ryan (in Florida) operated this surprisingly busy service route and WW was queued up to follow several Nassau to Miami tows and salvages, and of course, the wait for safe weather and sea conditions. Her estimated time to towing was 2 weeks away.
With that extended waiting period, I decided to take a mental health break and I flew home for a few days to recuperate after a long period on the water, and to get ready for the pending adventure that would be the trip back to the mainland. I was able to snag a flight to Nassau with the resort staff, a cash deal for ride on their circa 1970 Piper Aztec, but to get back to Chub Cay, I had to fly through Fort Lauderdale with a slightly more expensive, island charter.
There are still two Bahama tales to tell, so come back soon.
Allen
Chub Cay, The Bahamas
