Taking the Path Less Traveled

Wild Goose is a 43-foot sailboat and, like her namesake, she has sleek lines and a tough resolve. We traveled 40,000 miles over a six-year period on this boat and amassed a lifetime of experiences. From the people to the places, these are the tales that make traveling on a sailboat worthy. In this blog I'll tell you about our travels on Wild Goose; about the people, the places, the storms, the icebergs, the whales and the pirates. I'll include photos and stories like Violetta, our guide in the jungles of Venezuela. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen who wore short cut-off jeans and sported a 10-inch hunting knife strapped to her leg. With humor, a little advice and some insight, I hope these tales will make you want create adventures of your own.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Cuba, I'll Remember You Forever


Cuba, Che and the People
"I'll Remember You Forever"

Travel to Cuba? It's an adventurous and beautiful travel destination, so why not? Beliefs and biases change slowly. For the good of both Cubans and Americans, I hope the US releases the Cuban embargo in the near future. If you want to travel to Cuba, here is some info from Cubalinda about how to get to Cuba.

It took four Guarda police
to row out to the boat and check us in
If there's one thing Cuba does not lack, it's bureaucracy and paperwork. As we traveled around the island, we checked in with the Guarda (port police) at each port or anchorage. As we arrived, we dutifully filled out paperwork in triplicate with carbon paper in between each sheet. We filled out the SAME paperwork in triplicate with the SAME aging carbon paper when we left the port or anchorage (often the very next morning!). It was a shear test of patience, but it's their country, their rules, and we followed them.

Mark and I at Havana's Malecon

Havana is a UNESCO World Heritage site and its a beautiful example of Old World Spanish architecture. From the Malecon to Plaza des Armas, Catedral San Cristobalto to the National Capital and the Great Theater, we roamed freely all over the city taking in the sites, museums and culture.



You can have a drink
with the man himself
Naturally, we hit the places made famous by Ernest Hemingway and, of course, those places were bars: El Flordita, purported to be the creator of the Daiquiri, and La Bodeguita del Medio, Hemingway's favorite for mojitos.  The Cuban people embraced their famous visitor as evidenced by the numerous photos of him covering the walls and a bronze statue of him at the bar in El Floridita.

There's even a photo of one of Hemingway's cocktail napkin notes:

My mojito in La Bodeguita
My Daiquiri in El Floridta 
                Ernest Hemingway

Lobsters were plentiful
and the fishermen friendly

Sailing around the island, we had to be very careful to watch for tiny home-crafted rowboats fishing in the deeper waters offshore. They were hard to spot and reminded us of Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea. Luckily for us, as little boats came home, they would stop (if the Guarda were not around) and sell us their daily catch. Yum!

Looks like a rocketship
straight from a 1920's
Buck Rogers comic


One of our favorite places was Cayo Guano del Estes, a tiny spit of land above a reef sporting a lighthouse that looks like a rocket. Two lonely lighthouse keepers manned the 'rocket'.

State of the art
electronics her
As we approached and began to anchor just off of the spit, Mark heads to the bow and I take the helm preparing to back down and set the anchor. Suddenly, there's a small wooden boat boat alongside and a very thin, somewhat bedraggled older man clambering over the side shouting, "La Capitana, La Capitana!". I didn't know whether to laugh or abandon ship, but I had a job to do since Mark had dropped the anchor and was also shouting to me to "Back down!". I realized our intruder was one of the lighthouse keepers who assumed I was the 'Captain of the Ship' and was duly impressed and enthusiastic to the point of exuberance.

You wouldn't believe how
good this tasted! 
When we finally unloaded our dinghy and came ashore, the younger lighthouse keeper climbed the ONLY palm tree on the spit, cut the ONLY coconut on the tree, and all four of us shared this prize. Although it was illegal, he came aboard the boat and showed us some good spots to dive for fish and lobster. That evening, he cooked a grouper in a charred black pot over an open fire. We shared a wonderful meal, some rum from Wild Goose, and collected a lifetime of memories of these two generous and kind souls.


If you visit Cuba, try to make the trip to the south side of the island to visit another UNESCO World Heritage site, Trinidad. This 500 year-old city with Spanish colonial architecture is like walking around an open air museum. Pink stucco churches, red tiled roofs and pastel painted fronts, cobble-stone streets with horse-drawn carriages clop-clopping along, and a constant supply of guajira musicians.

Looking at the Escambray Mountains
from the cathedral tower
From Trinidad, we made our way to Cienfuegos and (would you believe it) another UNESCO World Heritage site. A huge statue of Jose Marti, a writer, political activist and national hero in Cuba who lived in the late 1800's looms over the plaza. It was just across from this statue at an outdoor cafe that I met a very special man I'll never forget. He was an older man, very distinguished looking with a fat Cuban cigar in his mouth and was selling flowers from a nearby table. I desperately wanted to talk to this man, ask him about his life, where he was from and understand his experiences during the Castro-led revolution. I speak a little Spanish. He spoke no English. We both tried, but our language differences made such a complex conversation impossible. Finally, he took a small bouquet of flowers, pressed them into my hands and said in Spanish, 
"Take these flowers. Tonight you will remember me."

Heading back to Wild Goose
with my flowers
We left and made our way back to Wild Goose at anchor in the harbor. I put the flowers in a vase with water thinking about our day in Cienfuegos and my frustration at not being able to converse in detail with these courageous yet humble people. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the boat filled with the most unbelievable flowery aroma. Mark said to me, "I'll bet you remember that old man now." I thought about it and told him,

"You know, I'll always be able to close my eyes and see that man. I'll remember him forever."


Monday, January 21, 2013

Don't Cry for Me, Argentina

For us, the term "Wild Goose" means a wandering spirit and a lust for travel. It is that spirit that led us to travel aboard our boat Wild Goose and to continue to trek about the earth after we moved to Sisters.

Argentina is a BIG country@
Our latest trip was to Argentina. We spent almost six-weeks there traveling from Buenos Aries to Cape Horn, through the southern Chilean archipelago and along the wild Patagonian spine.


Most of our travels within the country were via the excellent Argentina bus system. The buses are spacious with seats reclining for sleeping and they serve food and beverages. However, since less than 25% of Argentina's roads are paved, it often means some very long bus rides to get to a short overland distance.  Oh well, it's part of the adventure and we actually enjoyed the view on the long trips (one was 37 hours-honestly!).

Juan & Eva "Evita" Peron



We landed in Buenos Aires, one of the 20 largest cities in the world and the capital of Argentina. The residents of Buenos Aires are known as portenos and they love tango, Evita, strong coffee, beef and beautiful clothes. We must have walked a hundred miles touring the city and even learned their (very crowded) subway system.



Behind us is the infamous
Beagle Channel
Cape Horn
From Buenos Aires, we flew to Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world. It's located at the edge of the Beagle Channel, a strait on the archipelago island chain of Tierro del Fuego. We could feel the presence of Charles Darwin and Captain FitzRoy on the bow of the HMS Beagle slowly surveying the coast of South America. We hopped onto a lovely Chilean ship, Australis, and began a cruise along the Chilean archipelago for four days. The highlight had to be the opportunity to take a small boat and land on Cape Horn. The weather is very unpredictable (after all, it is Fin del Mundo-the end of the world). Walking on this island overlooking the Drake Channel and knowing that clipper ships and square-riggers beat their way around this point (many still lie on the bottom there) was a lifetime bucket list thrill.

So cuddly!


From the ship, we made another thrilling excursion. Within the Straits of Magellan lies Magdalena Island one of the largest breeding sites of Magellan penguins. Imagine walking amongst 100,000 nesting little penguins. No, it didn't smell. Yes, they would walk right up to you. They were so cute. I wanted to cuddle one but we weren't allowed to touch them.





We traveled a bit in Chile going to the world renowned Torres del Paine National Park and Los Glaciares National Park. Chile is striving to have more national parks than any other nation in the world and their parks are wonderful, varied and well-kept.

Mark looking back at Mt. FitzRoy


Back into Argentina to travel along the southern spine of the Andes called Patagonia. Patagonia is an area shared by Chile and Argentina and has the most dramatic scenery and wildest wind I've ever seen. We spent several days the great little mountain town of El Chalten. Thousands of trekkers come here every summer to explore the many trails and hike to the base of Mt. FitzRoy. We did the hike to the base of FitzRoy, saw a massive avalanche into a mountain lake and met people from all over the world. This is a place I would highly recommend anyone add to their list if visiting Argentina.


My beautiful rainbow trout!
I released it back to its home.


Then onto Bariloche in the Lake District of Argentina. There are over 20 lakes and a plethora of rivers and streams in this area with world-class fly-fishing. We did a lot of fishing often times fighting with the wind more than a big fish. But, it was fun, an adventure and we met some new friends along the way.





We traveled Argentina in what I call a trekking mode meaning we had no checked luggage (only a backpack) and no prior plans other than a place to stay when we landed in Buenos Aires. The country is safe, you can drink the tap water and WiFi is available everywhere. Do be aware that Argentina has had a 50% inflation rate in recent years, so traveling there, while not overtly expensive, it's not cheap either. We used the Lonely Planet Argentina guide and found it to be an excellent source of information.

Let me know if you have any questions about traveling in Argentina. If you like this blog, please feel free to post it to your Facebook page and post a comment below.

Salud!


Monday, September 3, 2012

Cuba Sizzles


Hurricane Isaac may have played havoc on the Republican National Convention in Tampa, but the storm passed across Cuba before heading into the Gulf of Mexico. I thought it might be a good time to talk about our first trip to Cuba. It’s a country that, when you merely mention the name let alone consider visiting there, most people gasp, blurt out “isn’t that illegal”, and have that look on their face that says you are freaking nuts. First, we aren’t totally nuts just slightly weird. Second, it’s not illegal to go to Cuba; it’s just illegal to spend American dollars there.

Cuba. It’s an elusive paradise only 91 miles from Florida yet as foreign and mysterious to most Americans as Outer Mongolia. We decided we wanted to sail Wild Goose to Cuba, so we asked permission from the US Coast Guard to depart US territorial waters and enter into enemy territory. Yes there is a form for that and, within fifteen minutes of faxing our request, we received permission. This was 1999, prior to 9/11 and Homeland Security, and the Coast Guard just didn’t seem to care if we went to Cuba.

Feeling rather smug, off we sailed south toward the forbidden land of Cuba. It was an easy overnight sail and by morning we were getting close but still couldn’t see land. We were about twelve to fifteen miles from the island when we heard a message being repeated over and over in Spanish on our VHF radio. It seemed to be getting a little louder and a little more urgent each time.

“Oh my god, Mark. I think they’re calling us! I think they’ve been calling us for some time now,” I said. “Do you think they’re about to send out gun ships or airplanes to strafe us?”

“Perhaps you’re being just a little dramatic,” Mark said, ever the calming force between us. “Just answer them. You’re the radio operator, remember?”

I was considering resigning my post radio operator (a title Mark gave to me and referred to as RO) when Mark handed me the radio mike. “Tell them we’re about twelve miles out heading for Marina Hemingway.”

Great! Like my Spanish is actually adequate for this? I grabbed the radio mike marveling how he always seemed to weasel out on these radio things, took a deep breath and did my best. Spanish spoken with an American southern accent must be peculiar, to say the least.  I’m sure there were Cuban’s sitting in an office just snickering at my dreadful attempt.

There was an immediate response. We thought we heard the Spanish word for approach and something that amounted to an office or building called an edificio. I responded “Si, gracias”, wishing I really knew what was said. We raised our small Cuban visitors flag along with the obligatory yellow quarantine flag and headed towards the sea buoy marking the outer entrance to the channel into Marina Hemingway.

We lowered our sails, started the engine and slowly entered the narrow channel. Along the bulkhead several men dressed in olive green military uniforms pointed us in the direction of a dock. At least they weren’t pointing guns at us, so we continued desperately hoping we had all of the appropriate paperwork to check into the country.

Channel entering into Cuba
Cuba is a country steeped in paperwork, a hold over from their relationship with the Soviet Union. Every inspection, check-in, checkout, or movement of the boat must be documented with three carbon copies. It doesn’t matter that you just filled out the same papers yesterday or five minutes ago, they patiently, but firmly, sit there filling them out again while you sit there answering the same questions-again.

We satisfied the Guarda Frontera (Cuba’s border guards), the Immigration Officer and the Agricultural Ministry in a mere two hours after numerous quantities of paper each hand stamped, a quick insecticide spray, and an inspection of every cabinet on the boat. Only one casualty; fresh eggs were not allowed. We must surrender them or boil them. I boiled them.

We were released to travel onto Marina Hemingway and throughout the country. Cuba is a wonderful island country to visit and we highly recommend it. Cuba sizzles. The people are engaging, the culture is complex and the scenery is splendid. 

I’ll be writing more about Cuba in other blog posts, but if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to send me an email. If you like this blog post, you can make a comment in the Comment block at the bottom of this page, email it to your friends, or by clicking on the share button at the top and put it on your Facebook or Twitter.

Cheers!
Bunny




Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Hellcats of Calico Jack


People are always asking us if we encountered pirates during our travels on Wild Goose. Yes, they’re out there, we did encounter them, and that tale will be part of this blog someday. But, I thought I’d divert a bit and tell you story
-a true story-
according to the history books. Let me know what you think about the divergence.


Anne Bonny & Mary Read
This is the story of two unusual pirates who pillaged the Caribbean Sea in the 1700’s- Anne Bonny and Mary Read. They were known as the Hellcats of Calico Jack and their secret would shock the courts and become the subject of many legendary ballads.


Anne Bonny
Anne was the illegitimate child of a prominent Cork, Ireland attorney and his housemaid. Disgraced and disgusted, his wife left him, so the attorney packed up his new family and immigrated to Charleston, South Carolina. He bought a plantation and became a very successful businessman and planter. To his dismay, young Anne was untamed and volatile. She snubbed the proper young men of Charleston and married a worthless sailor named James Bonny. The couple fled to the pirates' lair of New Providence (now Nassau) in the Bahamas.
Mary Read
Mary was born in London and was also illegitimate. Her mother dressed the young child as a boy and portrayed her to be the male child and legitimate heir to a wealthy couple whose son had died. The two received a small stipend for a few years. Mary continued the ruse by joining the Royal Navy as a cabin boy aboard an English warship. In the 1700's, a doctor's examination was not required before enlistment and men aboard ships rarely bathed. It was easy for a woman to hide her identity. Fierce and ruthless, Mary climbed the ranks in the Royal Navy with a reputation for excelling in the use of hand weapons.


Calico Jack Rackham
These two women would ultimately meet on the pirate ship run by the legendary Calico Jack Rackham. Handsome and daring, Rackham dressed in brightly colored clothing and strutted like a peacock. He openly courted the feisty Anne Bonny and, on a shadowy night in 1718, Anne tucked her hair into a cap, dressed as a man, and fled with Calico Jack aboard his sloop, Revenge. Anne was a capable deck hand as well as an accomplished assailant with either a pistol or cutlass and she became a valuable second mate. The crew never dared to question her.


Meanwhile, Mary signed on with an ill-fated Dutch merchant ship bound for the West Indies. Rackham, Anne and their pirate crew overpowered the merchant ship in the Caribbean and Mary signed on as pirate crew rather than walk the plank into the sea.


Calico Jack's Signature Flag
Disguised as men, Anne and Mary were known for their violent tempers. Mary had secretly taken a lover, a shipmate on the crew to whom she revealed herself as a woman. When an irascible crewmember challenged her secret lover, Mary knew her lover could never win a fight with this man. She stepped in and began insulting and belittling the crewman until he agreed to a duel. At dawn on a sandy beach, Mary and the irascible crewmember stood back-to-back. They walked fifteen paces, turned and fired. Mary’s shot was accurate and deadly. The crewmember lay on the beach bleeding, two shots in the center of his chest. The duel was over. Mary was unscathed and her lover was still alive.


The nefarious careers of Anne Bonny, Mary Read, Calico Jack Rackham and their crew came to a sudden end in October 1720. Lying at anchor off Jamaica's coast, the crew was below deck. They were all drunk, celebrating a lucrative plunder. All, that is, except for Anne and Mary.



A British Navy sloop glided alongside the pirate ship and sailors began to board. Anne and Mary ran topside to battle the invaders with such ferocity the Navy sailors retreated to appraise the situation. The navy crew eventually prevailed, arrested all aboard the pirate ship and took them to Jamaica to stand trial. Lieutenant Barnett, the sloop's commander, testified that "none among the pirate crew were more resolute, or ready to board or undertake any thing that was hazardous than the two hellcats with pistols and cutlasses fighting wildly on the deck that day”


He noted that both were screaming at their shipmates to "come up and fight like men". In desperation, he recalled, one of the hellcats raised the hatch and fired a pistol among the cowardly pirates hiding below, killing one and wounding another.


Calico Jack and his crew had become famous and the trial attracted a large crowd spilling out onto the courthouse steps and beyond. The gawking mob cheered as it was announced that Calico Jack and his crew were sentenced to hang for their deeds. Their cheers were followed by shock when the next announcement proclaimed two heavily shackled pirates had stepped forward and said, "Milord, we plead our bellies." By law, the court could not take the life of an unborn child by executing the mother. A quick doctor's examination proved the inevitable. The Hellcats of Calico Jack were indeed women and both were with child.


The fate of Anne Bonny and Mary Read is questionable. Some accounts say Mary became ill in prison and died before giving birth. It’s thought that Anne was released after delivering her child and she and the child eventually faded into the shadowy ballads of time.


The newspapers of the day did report on one of Anne Bonny’s last tempests. Bonny was allowed to watch as Calico Jack resolutely walked to the gallows to meet his death. Rather than pleading mercy for her lover, she defiantly walked forward, spat in his path, and scornfully reproached,


"Had you fought like a man, 
you need not hang like a dog!"

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Pete's Pub and the Little Harbor Blaster


There are two things that excite the soul-Infinity and Finity. On an island you have both.
Bar at Pete's Pub
Those were the words of Randolph Johnston- artist, sculpture and philosopher-after he sailed to the Bahamas in 1951. We first discovered the incredible art of Randolph Johnston in Little Harbor where he and his family settled. Inside the harbor just beyond the sandy beach is Pete’s Pub, a wild and raucous outdoor bar that looks like it’s made of driftwood held together with boat lines. Hanging from the rafters are colorful burgees and flags, old license plates including one from Texas that says ‘Go Play’, t-shirts, bras, lacy panties and the names of hyndreds of people who have had the pleasure of playing and drinking in this fun place. Pete is the son of Randolph Johnston and has lived most of his life on this little spit.
Southern entrance into the bay
Little Harbor is a small, protected harbor located on the southeastern end of Great Abaco Island in the chain of Bahamas Islands called the Abacos. The harbor is tiny and you may have to wait for a rising tide for the boat to clear the low water shoal at the entrance. 
It was a gloriously sunny Sunday morning, about 72°, and I sat inside an abandoned wooden dinghy in front of Pete’s Pub just watching the comings and goings of the boaters in the harbor. 
“How about a bowl of Seafood Chowder for breakfast?” Pete shouted to me from the bar. “Besides, I could also use some help seasoning this meat and getting it into the pit.” I crawled out of the old dinghy and figured I’d just have to work for my breakfast.
Headache in a glass!
Preparations for the 'once-a-month but sometimes more often or not’ Pete’s Pub Sunday Pig Roast swung into action. Pete is in his late 40’s, short and a bit round, but boyish and light-hearted in demeanor. He’s an artist, chef, bartender, proprietor, and handy man around here and he loves a party. Pete scurried about as we seasoned and prepared the food for the afternoon event. I sipped the chowder, surprised at how good it was as a breakfast treat. The pig roast is a popular tradition and the small harbor fills quickly with boaters ready to drink and party from morning until way past sunset. Pete’s specialty libation is called a Little Harbor Blaster. It’s a combination of five different rums, some fruit juice, a piece of pineapple speared with a paper umbrella and a ready-made headache.
As we worked smearing the rub on the pig’s skin and putting it into the pit to cook, I asked Pete what his father was like.
“To understand my father, his philosophy and his sculptures, you’ll have to read his journals and diaries,” he said. He stopped and pulled off the heavy welding gloves that kept the smoldering embers in the pit from burning his hands and went into the gallery. He emerged a few moments later with a small pile of well-worn, leather-bound journals.
“Here, read these,” he said, piling the dusty journals in my arms with a challenge to “learn about the past in order to accurately appreciate the present”.
Nine Stages of Man
“Modern man yearns for Eden.  Is it possible to go back to such a beginning?” Randolph wrote in his diary during their long voyage to the Bahamas. “I don’t see myself as an exile but as a seeker, a survivor. Until you recognize that life is a limited engagement, you never experience every minute intensely.”
I mulled over the words of Randolph Johnston as I feasted on roasted pig, toasted with rum drinks, and partied with other cruisers. I was hooked; fascinated by a brooding man whose Gothic artwork revealed so much of mankind. And I was also intrigued by his son whose own artwork was portrayed not in the Gothic, but in the reality of the ocean and its creatures.
 In one of his journals, Randolph described Pete as “the rebel’s rebel, the individualist’s individual, the implacable foe of regimentation in any form”. It sounded like a typical father struggling with a typical rebellious teenager. I wondered what Pete thought of this.
 “My life has been a mixture of Swiss Family Robinson and Shakespeare, Beethoven and Einstein. I’m a jack of all trades and master of none. Here in Little Harbor, we didn’t have much opportunity for formal schooling, so my parents gave my brothers and me volumes of classical reading material and music.”
We spent the next few days roaming the island, exploring the caves, snorkeling in a nearby black hole, browsing the gallery, carving our names into the rafters of Pete’s Pub, and inspecting the broken old lighthouse. It’s like finding Gulligan’s Island with Gulligan himself behind the bar and Maryanne’s undies hanging above.
Mark securing a coconut
Coconut Bowling


Mark climbed a coconut tree and managed to knock down a coconut without breaking his body. We passed the time by playing coconut bowling on the sandy path leading across the spit to the ocean side.
 Sunsets were spectacular, the rum superb, and the cultural value invigorating.


Life an ocean, time a wave, and every soul a drop
 That's the philosophical genius Randolph Johnston. I wish I had thought of that! 

Monday, January 23, 2012

High winds, a swinging cat and....Crazy!

With the wind pulsating like a giant fan continually alternating between high and low, we work above deck unfastening everything that can be removed, eventually stowing it all in the small cabin below. Hurricane-force winds can rip even the most securely rolled and tied sails from their lashings and shred them within minutes. No one talks much. Even the typical chatter on the VHF radio is quiet. Everyone works with a nervous busyness, dealing with his or her own private fears.

Eventually, all of the sails, diesel fuel containers, lines, cushions, long aluminum booms and loose hardware make their way to our living space below deck. The tiny cabin starts to look like a cut-rate hardware store and has a musty, damp smell. The only space left is a narrow path to the propane stove and a similar one to the head. We’re all exhausted so we try to find a spot big enough to lie down and get some sleep before Bertha arrives.

The heavy wind and rain starts about midnight. Bertha is less than 75 miles from Great Abaco Island. Wild Goose wallows in the growing swells and jerks against two of her anchor lines while the third line lies slack, trailing out of sight underneath the boats’ keel.
Samantha swinging in the fruit hammock
Samantha, Tracy’s cat, begins to look for a stable platform. Suddenly, she leaps into a small hammock hanging in the galley that holds our fresh fruit. The hammock swings freely with the motion of the boat. Samantha seems content to rock in sequence with the motion of the boat rather than fighting to hold herself in one spot. The four of us have learned to live in rhythm with the boat rather than battle the motion of the boat.

Mark reminds us we must take a triangulated bearing every half-hour to confirm our position has not changed. When it’s time to take our first triangulation check, Mark slides the hatch open and pokes his baldhead outside. The wind drives raindrops into the cabin that feel like sharp darts and Mark is unable to see in the stinging rain. He ducks back inside and closes the hatch with a snap; so much for great plans. I mop up the puddles with a towel while Mark begins digging in a locker.

I don't know what
you're laughing about!
 “Ah ha!” he declares like Sherlock Holmes finding a clue. He puts on a red cap and pulls a mask and snorkel over top of the cap. He looks like a cross between a space alien and a cartoon character.  With protective gear in place and the snorkel mouthpiece in his mouth, he once again opens the overhead hatch and emerges into the rain victorious. The bizarre scene is elevated to hysterics when Mark garbles the triangulation angles through the snorkel and we fall across the sail bags laughing. He turns and stares through the lens of the diving mask with indignation until Tracy snorts a suppressed laugh and grabs the spreadsheet from the table. Still giggling under her breath, she records the numbers. The angles to our stationary objects on land remain the same as the previous day and, for the moment, we’re staying in place. Mark huffs back into the cabin without looking at any of us.

The winds inside the rotating hurricane alternate between 75-80 mph sustained and blasting gusts that exceed 110 mph. Each gust of wind brings a deafening sound and the boat shudders. As each gust of wind subsides, the sustained winds now feel like a short lull with an eerie silence only to fall victim to the next gust.

It’s been four hours since Bertha began and the anchors on Wild Goose hold firm to the bottom. The wind suddenly stops as the eye, or center core, of Hurricane Bertha crosses over the island. Blue skies reign overhead, but after the deafening noise and constant lurching of Wild Goose, the sudden quiet seems foreboding.  Harried boaters and islanders emerge from the burrows of their safety and check for broken equipment or damage. The local merchant serving as central command reports on the radio there are no injuries and only one boat has blown onto the shore.

As quickly as the wind stopped, Bertha begins to blow about a half hour later and this time from the opposite direction. Wild Goose wallows back and forth raising her bow and thrusting against the two forward anchors before shifting her stern and pointing her nose into the new direction riding hard on her previously slack anchor.

By late afternoon, the sustained winds moderate to 55 mph and gusts clock in at 90 mph. Although the wind hardly seems moderated, I’m relieved to think it’s almost over. My relief is short lived when Mat stands up and proclaims he suffers from cabin fever and claustrophobia. To relieve this malevolent condition, he’s going on deck to take a shower. He starts peeling off his clothes.
  
“A 50-mph wind can blow a person overboard,” I lecture. Mark is no help standing in the open hatch looking like a space alien as he hunts for triangulation points.

“Anything is better than a jail cell,” Mat insists. “Besides, you’ve been complaining about the locker-room smell in here, so I’ll do my part by taking a shower on deck in the rain.”

Donning a bright blue harness that fastens around the chest and connects to a safety line, Mat grabs a bar of soap and heads up the stairs and out onto the cabin top. Standing naked in a pressure wash of driving rain, he sings Willie Nelson’s “Crazy” at top of his lungs like Pavarotti on stage at the Met. Horns blow and voices shout over the radio encouraging Mat’s opus.  It seems everyone could use a little levity at this point.
Evening arrives and Bertha bids her good-bye. The final tally for Marsh Harbor: two sailboats blew onto the shore inside the harbor, scores of homes and businesses had significant damage and six people were injured. Wild Goose and her fledgling crew persevered Bertha’s attack unscathed. It was our first test, one of many over the next six years and forty-thousand miles we sailed aboard Wild Goose. Hauling the sail back up the mast, we prepared to leave Marsh Harbor and continue our cruising in the Bahamas Islands. I know there will be other rounds to battle and more storms to endure, but now that I’ve met Bertha, I have a new confidence that stems from experience. Just the same, I’d prefer not meeting another wild Bahamian named Bertha anytime soon.