The jumping off place for the passage from northern Eleuthera to the
Abacos is Royal island. Vic wrote about it in 2008 when he first
visited. It is a beautiful little bay with a narrow entrance, which
means there is all weather protection when anchored inside. It is truly a
beautiful location, and years ago someone built an elegant private
estate, which is now in ruins. Vic said that the island was to be
developed, which would destroy its remote beauty and possibly access to
the convenient anchorage. Development started, but is now nothing more
than a dock with a sign saying "Construction Entrance", an office
trailer, and some rusting construction equipment. I am sure the island
will someday be developed, but the present effort failed. I dinghied
ashore at the crumbling estate dock and went up the once elegant
stairway. The buildings are there, enveloped in vines and bushes. Some
of the flowering plants are still growing in the gardens. About the only
thing left that shows the past elegance is the decorative floor tile.
The most interesting room was a bathroom, rather small, with a toilet,
wash basin, shower area, very large tub, and a huge fireplace. Vic, does
it get cold enough here to need a huge fireplace in a small bathroom? I
walked a long way along what was once a concrete road, now crumbling
but still passable.
The next morning I was out the cut to open
water at 04:00 for the passage across the Northeast Providence Channel
to The Abacos. I wanted to get there early enough to linger at Little
Harbour. It was about then that I realized that this is somewhat of a
pilgrimage for me. For many years I have heard the names Little Harbour,
Hope Town, Marsh Harbour, Green Turtle Cay, Manjack Cay, Great Sale
Cay, and I was now to visit there. The sea was absolutely calm. No wind
at all. I was motoring comfortably at about 4.5 knots, when about 11:00
suburbia caught up with me. All of them had anchored in Royal Bay the
night before. I had been with them, more or less, since Rock Sound
Harbour at the southern end of Eleuthera. For awhile I had eight boats
within two mile of me, then they slowly went on ahead. There is plenty
of room in Abaco to spread out. I got to Little Harbour Cut, then Little
Harbour channel. And just as the name says, it is a little harbour,
with a narrow passage between high banks, with piers and houses all
around, reminded me of what I think a New England village would be. It
would be a great place to be in a storm, if you get in. I didn't. In
careless arrogance I just motored into the channel. When I did look at
the depth gage I was about to run aground. I should have imediately put
it in reverse and stopped, but there was a large catamaran coming in
behind me, and I tried to turn around. I ran hard aground perpendicular
to the shore, motoring ahead. I was hard aground. I tried all my tricks.
Couldn't get off. There were motorboats coming and going, and one of
them stopped. I gave them a line and they pulled my bow around, then
with full power and them pulling I slipped back into deep water. That
sure was a good feeling. So much for Little harbour. Next time I will be
more careful, and do it at sometime other than dead low tide. It was
getting late at that point, so I headed north, past where suburbia was
anchored, and searched my charts for a suitable place to spend the
night. There looked like the perfect place, and lo 'n behold, it was
Black Point Cay, Buckaroon Bay, a place Vic had highly praised in '08.
And, yes Vic, it is one of those absolutely beautiful places.
Thursday morning there was absolutely no wind, no current, the top of
the water was smooth and transparent. No other boats, no buildings, no
people, nothing but a large turtle that stayed with me about 30 minutes.
I could see the bottom as well as if I were in the water with a diving
mask. I was in love with the experience. It was one of those moments
that we go looking for. Everything was perfect. I rigged the hookah (air
pump in the cockpit with hose going down to a scuba regulator and
mouthpiece) and walked around the bottom for awhile. It always
fascinates me to look up at the bottom of the boat, floating above me.
Then I went for a swim, just for the pure pleasure. I didn't want to
leave. .I pulled the anchor, after taking pictures of it on the bottom,
eight feet down, and the boat just sat there, not moving. I did linger
30 or so more minutes. Then headed toward Marsh Harbour, 15 miles north.
Five miles or so before Marsh Harbour I came abreast of Hope Town, and
its small harbour, one of the places I wanted to visit. The Hope Town
lighthouse is a post card icon, red and white banded. It is the only
lighthouse anywhere as far as I know, that is still lighted with the
original kerosene lamp. They tell me that you can go to the top, to the
lamp room, and see the mechanism. John Gray Blount, a friend from
Washington, told me that he was invited to be at the top when the keeper
lighted it. A rare privilege. I wanted to see it. The approach water
was shallow, and I tip-toed in, very careful of the depth. I got into
the harbour, and it was chock full of boats. There was almost no room
for me to turn around. The lighthouse visit will have to wait for
another time. I tip-toed back out to deep water, and then the five miles
to Marsh Harbour.
Marsh Harbour reminds me of Ocracoke, except
larger and more commercially developed. The harbour is four, maybe six
times larger than Silver Lake, and there are about 30 boats at anchor
with another 50 or so in marinas. Ashore are restaurants, shops, etc.
This morning I to a dinghy tour of the harbour to see if there was
anybody here I knew, when I saw, would you believe it, I saw the boat
"Joie de Vie", and there stood John Gray Blount, from Washington, NC, in
the cockpit! He had arrived yesterday also, with three friends aboard.
His wife, Mary Howard, is coming in a few days. I hope I get to see her.
I will sail with the next weather window. The cold front has passed
and is now down to Turks & Caicos, 400 miles south. Gosh I have come
a long way. Wind is now 15-25 knots from the northeast. When it settles
somewhat I plan to ride the Gulf Stream back to Wrightsville Beach.
Chilly here today. As I sail north I may have to break out the winter clothes.
Bill Doar
s/v Advent II
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