Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint, took pity on my soul in agony.
~ Samual Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Our time at West End provided a well-deserved rest after our journey from Eleuthera. We used this break to clean Kailoa and provision food, fuel, and water. In our free time, we’ve been engrossed in reading selections from our onboard library. “Left for Dead ” by Jay Dolan, a local author from Marblehead, recounts the true tale of the hardships faced during a sealing venture in the Falkland Islands during the War of 1812, which took a fateful turn. Hampton Sides’s book “The Wide Wide Sea” offers insights into Captain Cook’s last voyage. Living aboard Kailoa feels luxurious compared to the conditions aboard ships in those days. We both marvel at the ingenuity and determination shown by those early explorers.
In the meantime, we maintained a disciplined approach to studying the forecasts to choose our next weather window for the crossing back from West End, Grand Bahama, to Saint Augustine, Florida. The planned passage would cover 240 nautical miles, involving an overnight crossing of the Gulf Stream and navigating an area known for heavy cruise ship and transport traffic. Our stay was scheduled to last over a week, requiring patience as we awaited the optimal window. After several days of analyzing models and forecasts, we ultimately decided on a departure date of Sunday, February 23 rd . We utilized PredictWind software to chart a course that ensured optimal travel time and comfort.
The optimal path took us northwest, passing Wood Cay diagonally toward the Gulf Stream. Northwest of Grand Bahama, we planned to adjust our course due north to take advantage of the Gulf Stream current past Cape Canaveral, where we intended to change course a second time and sail northwest to Saint Augustine. PredictWind estimated that most of the passage would be either downwind or reaching, with seas less than 1 meter for 90 percent of the journey. We evaluated wave magnitude, wave direction, wind speed, wind direction, current speed, tides, rain, and lightning, and re-ran the PredictWind model every 12 hours as updated information became available.
To make the most of our time in West End, we stayed in one of the bungalows for a couple of nights and rented a car to explore the road connecting West End to Freeport and Port Lucaya. Along the way, we enjoyed a Brewery Tour at Sands, the only Bahamian-owned brewery in the country. Naturally, we had to stock up on drinks for future tastings with friends and family back in the States. We also visited the Bahamas Maritime Museum in Port Lucaya, which featured artifacts and histories of shipwrecks and the indigenous peoples of the Bahamas. Kim loves maps, and she was able to access archives and take screenshots of some of the earliest maps dating back to the 16 th century.
During our stay at the dock, it was enjoyable to watch the boats come and go and to meet the many sailors who frequent the harbor. Everyone has a story. Abdul was a 45 year-old computer guru from Syria. He owned a 29-foot Island Packet and had just arrived in the harbor with a crew member named Corbin from Virginia. The unlikely pair connected when Abdul placed an ad in a crew-finder forum. They were both worn out from enduring a rough passage from the Abaco’s. They needed help selecting a return window to the States and asked Scott for a PredictWind lesson. We learned later that as a ten-year-old growing up in the deserts of Syria, Abdul dreamed of owning a sailboat andsailing to the Bahamas one day. His dream took shape in 2019 when he purchased an older Island Packet, knowing little about sailing. During his first passage in the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW), the engine stopped running, and he had to call Sea Tow no less than four times. He described a harrowing experience of the engine quitting while transiting under a bridge opening. He was stuck in a harbor during the pandemic with his son, with no food and no way to leave the boat. The dream of the Bahamas would be put on hold for a couple of years until the pandemic subsided.
Abdul was a master storyteller who punctuated his story with funny punch lines, such as, “I thought Safe Harbor might pay me to leave the dock because of the shabby condition of my boat.” “On the first trip, my son joined me wearing a wet suit, unaware that it would take weeks to get to the Bahamas,” “Sea Tow canceled my membership after the fourth tow,” “By the time I was ready to make the crossing to the Bahamas my three sons were married and my wife wanted nothing to do with the sailboat.” Undeterred by all the setbacks, Abdul pursued his vision and ultimately crossed solo in 2024 to Bimini and the Abaco’s. We hope he writes a book.
We enjoyed meeting Daniel and Paige on their 30-foot catamaran, Plot Twist, along with their Great Dane, Winston, who is fed two pounds of raw hamburger, three eggs, and protein supplements daily, and who is blind. They are from Galveston, TX, and have chosen to cruise full-time while working from Plot Twist. We also met Marty, Charlotte, and their dog, Maggie, on Dolphin Dreamer; they hail from Charleston, SC. We reconnected with Larry and his partner, Helen, on their boat, Jean Luise. Helen lives in Marblehead, just around the corner from us, while Larry has a hay farm in Maine. We first met them in Saint Augustine and then again in Emerald Bay. We shared stories over dinner on Saturday night and hope to connect again stateside.
We departed West End around 7:30 Sunday morning with sunny skies and light winds out of the east. A pod of dolphins appeared and played in Kailoa’s bow wake. Scores of flying fish jetted out of the sea, gliding through the air in winged flight to avoid being eaten as we watched West End slowly disappear.
With the mainsail and jib sails fully raised, we steamed at 7 knots for several hours until we reached our first waypoint in the Gulf Stream. As soon as we entered the Gulf, we noticed the remarkable difference in speed provided by the current. The water temperature increased from 77 to 79 degrees, and the 4-foot swells from the open ocean had a long period, creating an ideal passage. Under the engine’s power at only 1200 rpm, Kailoa sliced through the water at speeds of 9.5 to 10 knots on a broad reach. Scott took the first watch from 12 p.m. to 3 p.m., and we alternated watches every three hours thereafter.
Late that afternoon, as the sun touched the water, we reefed the mainsail and ate the last of the meals Kim had made and frozen in November. We used the Windy App to judge our position in the Gulf Stream and rode the Gulf as long as possible before changing course for Saint Augustine. As we transitioned to the western edge of the Gulf, we noticed that the seas became less organized. The wave direction shifted onto the bow, causing Kailoa to pound and shudder every ten waves. To relieve the stress on Kailoa, we changed course and exited the Gulf Stream during the 6 PM to 9 PM shift.
During the 9 PM to 12 AM shift, the wind began to die down and shift direction from southeast to southwest, requiring us to jibe to maintain our course. We took in the jib and put a second reef in the mainsail during the shift change. The skies were shrouded in cloud cover, creating a black night were it not for the dim glow of Cape Canaveral, Daytona Beach, and Palm Coast off our port side. It’s the ink-like darkness of the open ocean, combined with the feeling of total
aloneness, that is hardest to manage during night passages.
Around 3 AM, Scott was positioned between a tugboat and a cruise ship. He ended up hailing the cruise ship’s bridge to ensure they knew our location. Scott was also concerned about the fish havens marked along our route. We looked them up later and discovered that fish havens are artificial ocean floor structures noted on nautical charts. They are often located near fishing ports and coastal inlets and consist of rocks, rubble, concrete structures, ships, and other abandoned materials. Fish havens can be hazardous for ships because they can obstruct surface navigation and entangle anchors.
As the passage continued, the temperature dropped, and the seas cooled to 67 degrees. A lighted Buoy 15 miles off Cape Canaveral confirmed our track north. Air temperatures dropped, signaling that the squalls in distant clouds would soon reach us. The rain started around 4 AM, and the wind began to gust to 21 knots. Thankful for the second reef, we eased the mainsails and deployed the jib as we struggled to maintain our rum line in the confused seas. The rain picked up and was steady out of the northwest, requiring us to sail close-hauled at about 35 degrees apparent wind angle. The decision to exit the Gulf Stream sooner caused us to have a longer upwind leg than initially planned. Kailoa pounded head-on into the wave, causing the boat to bang and shudder. By 6 AM, we were both miserable and tired. Our mood elevated when we were joined by a lost chickadee who found its way into our cabin to warm up. We weren’t completely alone!
With 60 NM remaining, the boat’s speed dropped to about 6.5 knots under full engine throttle. We prepared ourselves for the slow upwind stretch to Saint Augustine by unfurling the jib and mainsails to increase speed. Unable to maintain our rum line, we tacked a few times to align Kailoa’s course with the next mark. By this time, our fuel gauge was reading thirty percent, so we stopped the engine around 10:30 AM and transferred two five-gallon jerry cans of diesel to the fuel tank in the rain. Kim set up an umbrella and placed pig mats on the gunwale while Scott carefully poured in the fuel. In the rain, we managed to keep water away during the inflight refueling operation.
As we approached the inlet, the black-and-white striped lighthouse off Anastasia Island was a welcome sight. The inlet between Anastasia Island and Vilano Beach is notorious for shifting sands that require the channel markers to be actively managed and periodically moved to indicate deep water. Our arrival at the shallow, uncharted inlet coincided with the incoming tide. Visibility was about three miles when we spotted the channel marker. Within half an hour, visibility changed dramatically and worsened. As the dark clouds rolled in, we retired the Bahamian courtesy flag. Fortunately, the channel markers were easy to spot, and we transitioned from offshore to the ICW without incident.
We were relieved to be moored by 4 PM. The wind and rain intensified as we settled in for the night, with Scott preparing breakfast, dinner, and a few celebratory cocktails. The changing conditions and our inability to rest during the passage proved more challenging than expected. However, we worked together to handle every unexpected twist we encountered. We retired for the night, exhausted yet satisfied that another 240 NM was in the bag. “Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea!”
Kailoa Signing off.
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