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You are welcome to apply any part of this article to your own personal use. Please do NOT publish any part of the article or apply any part of it to any non-personal use without the express written concent of the author.
We're headed for the Abacos, at the northeastern corner of the Bahamas. It's a somewhat remote region with dozens of uninhabited cays (pronounced: kees) and a few small settlements. Most settlements boast a population around 100-300, few have more than 500. Only one town, Marsh Harbour, is significantly larger but still ranks as a small town by any standard. While the region caters to cruising boats, it is still an area of limited resources. That translates into a need to bring with us whatever we feel we'll need for the duration of our trip.
So we want to make sure that Volant is in good repair. If anything breaks down during the trip we want to either be able to fix it or to live with it broken - which requires a good inventory of spares. Food will be available in any of the settlements, but then it will be of limited variety - which requires that we bring along as much as we can carry. And then there are the special requirements we must meet because we're traveling with our blue-fronted Amazon parrot, Admiral Nelson.
Volant is mostly in good repair at all times, so there wasn't a lot of fixing to do. We did test out all major systems from the radar to the watermaker to "Otto von Steerer" (the autopilot) to the engine-driven refrigeration to the on-board shower. Our last test of Otto's cousin, "Styrbjörn von Steerer" (the self-steering wind vane) showed a weak link that was strengthened - we've more testing to do here but with "Otto" as a backup, we're in good shape. The shower failed to pump the used water overboard; the outlet hose was clogged. Rampant, our inflatable dinghy, wasn't holding pressure; there were two leaks. A few of the interior lights were out and some of the red nightlights needed recoating with red fingernail polish. My SCUBA gear required some work; the regulator's fittings were corroded and the secondary mouthpiece was faulty. One of the small 12-volt electric fans was replaced; it had recently died. Due to past trips we still have a good inventory of spares, so not much was required in that category. And, of course, we topped up our fuel tanks.
Provisioning took a lot of attention. To prepare the shopping list we took a complete inventory of the galley's supplies. Each trip to the grocer focused on only one group of supplies, such as canned goods. Mostly the shopping list covered our usual items. Some, such as long-life boxed milk, were on the list because of our remote destination. Boxed Items were removed from their cardboard boxes and placed into zip-locked plastic bags; cardboard in the tropics and sub-tropics harbors cockroach eggs and takes up needed space. Meats, fish and poultry items were purchased in less-expensive bulk packages and repacked into single-meal-sized zip-lock bags and stacked in the freezer. Sufficient paper goods were purchased to last the entire trip; these were mostly stored in their whole packaging with a few broken down into individual units to fit into their storage place more easily. With all these purchases aboard, Volant sits a few inches down on her waterline.
By far the biggest headache was the paperwork required because we're traveling with Admiral Nelson. There's an international treaty, the Convention on International Transportation of Endangered Species (CITES, pronounced: SIGH-tees). Although the Admiral is not on any of the endangered or even threatened lists, he's covered by the treaty. That requires that we have advanced permission from our own government to export and re-import him, plus permission from our host governments to import and re-export him - and, of course, each government wants a small application fee. It takes about a month for the paperwork to be processed by each government. In addition we have to take the Admiral to a veterinarian for a health certificate. The day before we leave he also has to go to our own Agriculture department for inspection. I expect they want to make sure that we REALLY have a bird that we're taking out and that it's the SAME bird when we come back in. The U.S. certificate is good for six months. The Bahamian certificate is good for 90 days.
At the same time we're applying for CITES documentation for our Canadian trip coming up in July. The paperwork is the same, but the certificates for both governments are good for three years. One hitch here is that the Canadian government wants to see the U.S. documentation first, so the application takes longer to process. There may be others, but we haven't encountered them yet.
The last day was the biggest headache. We had to physically present the Admiral to the U.S. Fish & Wildlife office in Miami. After about half an hour of paperwork, we had to go to the U.S. Department of Agriculture office to get approval for our health certificate (this is a 2-person job - as no pets were allowed in the office so one of us had to stay outside with the Admiral). Unfortunately, the Bahamas requires a certificate within 24 hours of departure. Ours was about 10 days old. The Agriculture office refused to validate the certificate. We had to find another veterinarian to prepare a new health certificate, and had to do that before the Agriculture office closed at 3:30pm. We were fortunate in that we found a vet to write the certificate, and got back to the office before closing.
A trip to the nautical bookstore resulted in the acquisition of a cruising guide to the Abacos (we already have our charts from our prior visits to the Bahamas). Cruising guides, when available, are essential. A good guide is worth its weight in gold. Cruising guides, written by those who have gone before, cover such things as sailing routes, detailed instructions for entering tricky anchorages, location and procedures for customs and immigration, how to get service on the boat and which restaurants are the best. The problem with most guides is that they're out of date by the time they're published. We have a number of older guides to the Bahamas, so we acquired one that was completely updated in 2002.
We've done our route planning as well. Our destination is West End, Grand Bahama Island. Our distance to landfall is 70 nautical miles. We have to cross the Gulf Stream with its 2-3+ knot current. Arrival in good light is essential due to the coral heads in the area. A departure between midnight and 0200 should be right.
The weather report looks good for a departure on Tuesday night, better for Wednesday night. With a guest due in at Marsh Harbour in a week, there's some pressure to depart earlier rather than later.
The problem with preparations such as ours is that there's always "just one more thing" that can go on the list to make it more complete. At some point, we have to cut it off and declare that all preparations are complete. So we've declared that we're now ready to go - except for "just one more thing." We want to stage for our crossing to West End.
Staging is the process of getting underway for a short distance, even if only a mile, and anchoring before our actual departure. First, this performs a last test of the systems that are crucial for passagemaking. Second, it gets us closer to our destination which reduces travel time. But third, and most important, it also gets us away from the dock and lets us poke our nose out into the seaway into which we will be sailing. There's a phenomenon called "harbor fever" or "dock fever." The longer you're in harbor or at the dock, the harder it is to leave. This is true for experienced sailors as well as novices. It's true for us. Staging gets us over that hump and gets our minds into passagemaking, even if it's only for a three-hour cruise.
It's Tuesday night. We're still at the dock in Ft. Lauderdale, having elected to stay and rest rather than stage. We're pooped. But we're only a few hours away from being in the Bahamas, and we can rest when we get there. So we're "go" for tonight.
Next dispatch: Arrival.
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