Tag Archives: ICW

Can’t Beat the Water – Georgetown, Red Shanks, Bahamas, December 21, 2025

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Can’t Beat the Water – Georgetown, Red Shanks, Bahamas, December 21, 2025

Friends told us our first year here in Georgetown that we would be back to the Bahamas and you won’t be able to beat the beautiful turquoise water here no matter how far south to Grenada you go.  I am here to attest that this is a true statement and at this point we have certainly become “water snobs.”  Since Thanksgiving in the Exuma Land and Sea Park we have meandered our way down through the Exuma Islands, including Emerald Bay (which is a lovely little marina to get diesel fuel), Black Point, and Elizabeth Harbor. 

There are a couple of downsides we got going for us at this point.  Number one, Ron needed to climb the mast to replace the wind sensor we broke off on one of the bridges (El Pablo) on the intercoastal.  When we got down to Georgetown, he tried a couple times, but his fear of heights didn’t let him get to the top.  Remember the sailing karma we try to create?  We got it.  The guy Ron ended up helping saw the cable from his anchor was parked right next to us here in Elizabeth Harbor and has offered to climb our mast and replace the wind sensor!  Whew!  Now Ron will eventually need to climb the mast to polish stainless rigging but it won’t be such a crisis and we can get to this in our own timeline while having a wind sensor (telling us wind speed) in the meantime.  Very nice and thank you to Dane from SV Tamika.

Quick work!

Issue number two was that I broke my big toe again.  Ugh.  I slipped and fell on the back of the boat getting on my paddle board and bent my toes back completely.  I can walk in flip flops, but it has turned nicely bruised and I cannot wear tennis shoes or fins.  Guess I won’t be hiking much for the next few weeks until I can stand wearing real shoes again.  I can still swim and paddle board on my knees but I think we will be laying low here and have decided to move over to a mooring ball in Red Shanks, where we are the only boat in the bay.  It offers 360 protection, a nice dose of privacy, and easy access to town for grocery and propane.  We are fairly close to turtle bay and plan to head over to feed the turtles and too many large red starfish to count.  It is lovely and if we are stuck for bit this is a great place to spend Christmas.  Looks like we are attending the lovely potluck planned here on Chat ‘N Chill Beach!

Ouch

Running from the Devil: A Battle with Nature – June 8, 2025, Somewhere on the ICW, USA

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Running from the Devil: A Battle with Nature – June 8, 2025, Somewhere on the ICW, USA

Sailing is a game of trade-offs. You make decisions with limited information and hope your gut is right. Sometimes there’s no “right” choice—just a better gamble. And this time, we were gambling against a storm.

The race is ok

We were sailing with a line of squalls forming to the north west. Our best shot? Reach a nearby anchorage within 30 minutes—get the hook down and ride it out from a safe spot. Easy in theory. Fifteen minutes later, nature flipped the script. The storm shifted south—fast—and came right at us.

We pulled into the anchorage as the sky broke open. Wind screamed in at 50 mph the moment we dropped anchor. Sally dumped every foot of chain we had. The boat spun violently, circling like a toy caught in a whirlpool. But the anchor dug deep into the clay—and held. For now.

As the squall passed, the wind settled, but something felt off.

A low grinding sound echoed through the hull. Not normal, but with shifting tides and strong currents, I figured it could wait until morning.

It didn’t.

At 2 a.m., I snapped awake with a gut-punch realization: what if the anchor chain had wrapped around our rudders or keels during the storm’s chaos?

Visibility? Zero. Water? Mud brown. Wildlife? Full of alligators. Diving in to investigate was not a pleasant option.

So, I tested the rudders from the helm. Port—no issue. Starboard—jammed halfway.

Houston, we have a problem.

If the chain wrapped the propellers, we were in serious trouble. I started one engine, then the other, slipping each into gear with my breath held. Miraculously, both ran fine. Huge relief. The chain hadn’t tangled in the props—just the rudder.

That meant one thing: we had a shot at solving this without going for a swim.

In pitch black and dead silence, I began raising the anchor—slowly, nervously. Foot by foot, the chain came in, and the boat began to turn with it, swinging like the hand of a clock. We were unwinding ourselves. It was working.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the anchor broke the surface.

We were free.

But suddenly, another problem—we were drifting in the dark. No anchor, no direction, and no margin for error. Without hesitation, I dropped it again, securing us to the clay bottom just a few hundred feet from where we started.

We were safe. Again.

And I was grateful Plan A had worked—

Because Plan B? That involved me, a dive light, and way too many alligators.