February 19, 2009 “TROPIC OF CANCER”

PICS
*Just a small portion of Georgetown Harbor
*Jim at the helm in Georgetown
*Dinghy dock in Georgetown for shopping
*Sunrise in Georgetown
Tropics – “the limits of the area of the Earth’s surface between the Tropic of Cancer at North 23degrees30mins and the Tropic of Capricorn at South 23degrees30mins in which the Sun can be directly overhead . . . with the equator in the middle.”
Okay, we made it as far south as the “Tropic of Cancer”; it goes right through Georgetown, Exuma. We’d like to keep going on down past the equator to the Tropic of Capricorn, but time won’t allow. Duty calls at home, at least for a few more DSNGRR train seasons. Until now we’ve avoided Georgetown at the bottom of the Exuma chain; not because it’s a long way south, but because every winter hundreds of cruising sailboats, mostly Canadians, head for this beautiful harbor to escape their miserable northeastern weather. Most just go down to Georgetown and stay there; it’s a legitimate boating community of several hundred boats. We, on the other hand, cruise to get away from civilization, not to create is elsewhere. Everyone we’ve run into over the years has said you have to go to Georgetown once for the experience, so you can say you’ve been there. February 14-18, we were there . . . well, been there, done that, got the t-shirt! Too many boats!
After restocking food, water, and fuel, we gladly headed northward back up the Exuma Sound on Feb. 19 for Little Farmers Cay, 46 nautical miles of deep water. We had planned to leave the following day the 20th, because the wind and waves were really supposed to mellow out for a great deep water crossing. But early that Thursday morning we saw a few other boats leaving the harbor, including an new acquaintance from Durango, so we quickly decided to go stick our little nose outside to see if it was going to be comfortable enough for us. The southeast winds were breezy at 15-20, a good exciting point of sail, almost a run, paralleling the whole chain of islands northward along our port side. As we neared the harbor exiting channel onto the Sound, it became clear that it should be a great sailing day “outside” the harbor, but the issue of exiting the harbor itself out through the small gap in the reef line was going to be a little dicey. The cut was actually substantial, a quarter-mile wide mouth, plenty of water to pass large ships like Columbus did back in 1492. A half mile from it, we realized that we were riding a powerful outgoing tide and that chickening out and turning around was quickly disappearing as an option. Well, the cut itself finally revealed itself as they tend to do at the last moment, and it was a most intimidating sight. Huge, Hawaiian-looking rollers were breaking as 20 foot tall surf onto the shallow reefs on both sides of us as we were swept by a 5-knot tidal current out into the relative calm of the Exuma Sound. “Flushed” is really a more appropriate description. Wow!
Unfortunately, we have no photos to document this excitement. When things get tense on a boat, the last thing you’re thinking about is trying to take a picture of your eminent demise. I was white-knuckling the helm, watching my life pass before my eyes, and Nancy was amazingly quiet. I don’t think she wanted to distract me from my duties. So, you’ll have to settle for some placid harbor scenes, the dinghy dock in town, etc. Sorry.
Eight hours later, having experienced a great sail with a wind that slowly veered 180 degrees from southeast to northwest over the day, ending in a close-hauled beat, the wind just suddenly stops altogether, and we motor through the Little Farmers cut out onto the shallow waters of the Bahama Banks again. We anchored in total calm just off of the cay and crashed for the night. Tomorrow we’ve got another hard day due to a minor mechanical malfunction that I’ll explain in the next blog.