As we were coasting up and down a gentle swell approaching Miami’s decadent skyline, I had the revelation that our sail had been incident free up until this point. That seemed a little odd given our general track record. About three minutes later, I heard some frantic screaming from our port stern. I looked back and watched as the drama began to unfurl. You see, it wouldn’t be a journey on our boat if something interesting didn’t happen. Sailing to the Exumas with two kids on board was going to be just as exciting as the rest of our misadventures.
Our most memorable adventures tend to be inclusive of an ‘oh shit’ moment, followed by a, ‘what was I thinking?’ And my husband likes to throw in a dramatic “I shouldn’t even be here!” With both hands waving wildly in the air for effect.
Now that our sailing adventures are inclusive of two kids under 6, those moments are heavy laden with parenting guilt sprinkled with a little outside judgement.
We try to combat that by cushioning our adventures with endless preparation, research, and whenever possible, extra crew onboard. On this trip, we were lucky to have the help of our infinitely wise and experienced friend, Captain Stan.
Even with all the preparations and planning in order, things still happen. Traveling in rugged style is like that. You are guaranteed to get a little dirty as you explore the landscape. But the views are second to none. The more vulnerable you let yourself be, the more tangible your memories will be. No body remembers a nice cozy day on the couch with Netflix. The takeaway from immersive travel is worth the effort. If you’re reading this, you can learn from our mistakes and misadventures, and maybe pick up a few tips along the way. More about us here.
The Gulf Stream
You’ve probably heard a few stories about crossing the Gulf Stream to the Bahamas. And as stories go, they are held fast in memories because of their harrowing value. The Gulf Stream can be a tame kitty cat or it can pack elephants that will dwarf your boat and run away with your confidence. (So I hear.) Just today, I was chatting with a sailor in the Laundromat at Black Point in the Exumas, and they described 12 foot seas on the Gulf Stream, with confused swells coming from all directions. The poor woman had to crawl on her belly, tethered to the life lines, all the way to the front of the boat to retrieve their new Starlink Dish, in 12 foot confused seas.
With modern weather readings, there doesn’t have to be much wiggle room on what you want, versus what you get. But you have to have enough experience in the ocean to know what your comfort levels are. Once you have that, you can wait for those conditions. That is, assuming you can wait.
Our friends at the laundromat had a schedule to keep, so they took a chance on a questionable window. They knew they were taking a chance, but they had friends flying in to meet them in the Exumas.
So the moral of the story: if you don’t think you can handle the ocean when it’s bad, then don’t take a chance of going when it might be bad.
Here is an invaluable resource on everything you need to know about sailing to the Bahamas, from weather windows to route planning, galley tips and more, Carol Shearcock has it all: Everything You Need to Know about Sailing to the Bahamas . And more on the in depth preparations we underwent and essential reading.
Picking a Weather Window to the Bahamas
Picking a weather window to sail to the Bahamas leaves you with three options: You could make an educated guess, or you could leave it to the professional sailing forecasters, or lastly, you could buddy with another more experienced boat and just pull anchor when they do, like a true capitalist opportunist.
For the second option, Chris Parker has it down to a science, it just takes some time and practice getting used to his forecasts. Here is a Primer on understanding his forecasts.
After you get the hang of it; know what conditions you want, and wait for the conditions to be forecast to you.
Maybe you want comfortable rolling hills with longer periods between waves. Or maybe you want no waves, under a foot… it all depends on what you know you can handle, and how long you are willing to wait for it.
Chris Parker makes it his job to forecast conditions for comfortable sailing. I know lots of sailors that think his forecasts are much too conservative. But for me, right now, it’s really nice to have in my back pocket.
For our first crossing to the Bahamas, luck was on our side.
A beautiful weather window was only a week away. And it was going to take us exactly one week to get from Grant, FL to No Name Harbor just south of Miami.
By the way, what is the perfect weather window?
For us, it looks like this: winds from the South, Southwest, light, under 15 knots. But take into effect what the seas were doing the day before, as confused seas can take a few days to calm down..
What is a Bad Weather Window?
Anything from the north. The northern winds pass in direct opposition to the Gulf Stream which can pack monsters. And the stronger the northerly winds, the worse the conditions can become.
This is an El Niño year, which is known for delivering more wind and cold weather. This makes weather windows harder to come by. And the further into winter we get, the small and further apart those windows become.
I remember speaking to a sailing couple in Oriental, NC. They sailed their boat to Florida to wait for a weather window to cross to the Bahamas, and they never got one. So they came back! Of course, who knows what their ideal ‘window’ looked like. Everyone’s window is a little different.
I personally can’t imagine the let down after going to all this trouble and preparation, only to come home with no memories made of the place you dreamt of. So there you see how tempting it might be to take a questionable window.
Luckily, we didn’t have to face that dilema. The perfect window was just over a week away.
Getting to Our Jumping Off Point
We took the long protected waters of the ICW to West Palm Beach. From there we would sail to Miami. And From Miami we would scoot down to No Name Harbor and cross to Bimini.
We had about one week to get to No Name Harbor and catch our window, and we were exactly one week away. So assuming nothing went wrong in the process….
A Sailor’s Biggest Hazard: Other Boaters.
After days of motoring down the ICW, we pulled into West Palm Beach. Here the giants make there appearance.
Boats, big as buildings, made of steel, floating with indelicate boyancy, literring the skyline with unnatural beauty. And here, clear blue waters enter the runway. A tiny slice of the color wheel that only shows itself in the aquatic landscape.
That night we anchored in a harbor full of sailboats and trollers with massive cargo ships and freighters all around.
After we set the hook, we went down to relax and I could hear the telltale screaming of another boater unsuccessfully setting their anchor in the harbor, twice.
That same boat ended up anchored next to ours.
Later that night, the tides changed and the boats started swinging. But our boat was swinging way too close to our fun yelling friends..
And soon, we realized that we weren’t swinging towards them at all, they were dragging into us.
We grabbed the horn and started screaming. They woke up, came outside and dealt with the issue just a few feet before collision. A close call. And of course, it was a charter boat. It’s always a charter boat.
The next day was also met with more boating drama. This one much more colorful, and the damages were almost irreparable.
Most Annoying Hazard to Sailors: Kite Fishermen
I hadn’t even heard of Kite Fishing until I listened in on some radio drama on channel 16. Apparently someone had sailed underneath a kite fisherman’s line, and the fisherman was pissed.
Sailing from West Palm Beach to Miami involved a full day in the ocean, hugging Florida’s decadent coast. We passed Mora Lago, a castle on the beach, unmistakable in all its glorified opulence.
Things were moving along, slowly but surely, when I heard some yelling in the distance coming from our stern.
I looked behind us and saw a very animated individual jumping up and down on a small fishing boat trying to get our attention.
He kept pointing to the top of our mast amidst the spitting and profanities. After some searching we saw that we did indeed sail under a kite fisherman’s line.
I cannot begin to explain how incredibly irritating this was. But let me try:
First of all: the kite was white and there were clouds in the sky. So of course, we didn’t see the kite.
Second of all, this guy was pissed. And he didn’t speak a lick of English. He danced behind the wheel in a fury while his wife looked away, embarrassed. He continued to follow us, flipping us the bird and other expletives that probably translate better in Russian.
There was literally nothing we could do. Not in that moment.
About an hour or so later, the angry fisherman stopped following us.
But that was only the beginning. We were trailing a kite behind our mast, which was likely to tie itself up on anything else we may come close to.
We waited for the winds to die down and motored into them long enough for the kite to drop.
We pulled it in but there was still endless amounts of tangled line at the top of the mast. We would have to deal with that later.
Miami: the Hall of Giants
We made it to Miami at dark. Miami’s skyline from the water is unforgettable. It still leaves me star struck. The buildings began to take on a mountainous shape in the forefront of a pink and orange sunset. As we approached the darkness won out and the city lights lit up the industrial landscape before us. Our entrance into port began to show itself. Miami is the breeding grounds for all cruise ships great and small. They wait for no one, and we were no exception. The channel was impossibly narrow when you have to share it with one of these giants.
A cruise ship on the water is like a sky scraper, laid over on its side, slicing through the channel with relentless speed. Moving in the forefront of Miami’s city scape, it was hard to grasp what we were actually seeing. At first, it looks like just another building, but then, you see that its moving. And then, you realize it’s moving, fast, and right towards you. We were forced to come just about a hundred or so feet from a mammoth cruise ship, in the narrowest part of the channel as we entered Miami. Facing the beast head on left our adrenaline pumping. But we had to leave some adrenaline in the tank. All the way to Marine Stadium we were met with container ships and cruise ships one after another, like kids at the play ground. It was exhausting to be in such close proximity to them in succession.
The next morning Adam dealt with the aftermath of our kite debauchery by climbing the mast before breakfast. Party boaters were leaving marine stadium, no doubt still awake from the night before. Their wake left Adam clinging to mast like a tree frog on top of the jungle canopy.
An uncomfortable hour later, Adam managed to extract hundreds of feet of line from the jib furler, the wind vane, and even inside the mast. Looking back, it could have been worse… I guess.
One more preparation was in order before heading out to No Name Harbour: Wi-Fi.
Cruising WI-FI in the Bahamas
A few days before taking off, I received an email responding to an inquiry I made months ago from My Island Wi-Fi. Not only did they have a device in stock, but they were able to ship it to me just in time to make my weather window.
I begged him to let me pay extra for overnight, just in case, but he said two day would be fine. Guaranteed it in fact.
So we dingied over from our anchorage in Miami to a little beach. From that beached I mapped out a run all the way to the post office where I had him ship the device General Delivery. (If you don’t know about this, it’s a game changing hack for any domestic travels.)
I love running in Miami. The color, the people, the sounds, and, just all of it. It’s a great place to go blow some steam if you’ve been stuck on a sailboat.
The post office on the other hand, wasn’t any fun. I waited for hours in line only to find out that the package had not arrived.
Not only was I left without a way to get wifi on our trip, but I was charged for the device, and at least two months of service. I repeatedly asked to be taken off the plan since I didn’t receive the device in time, but unfortunately I haven’t had any luck with that.
Generally speaking, My Island WiFi used to be the most reputable wifi option for cruising. But now, after speaking to a few cruisers, and even the owner of my island wifi, it sounds like the tables are turning. And now Starlink is the new kid on the block.
Starlink for Sailors
Starlink for boating is ungodly in price. But Starlink for RVers is actually quite reasonable. For sailboats that rarely go over 6 knots, Starlink is more than sufficient. I’ve heard though, that if you are doing an ocean crossing, turn the Starlink off because they might catch wind and force you to pay for the Marine Plan. You can always turn it back on if you need it!
Long story short, if you want wifi in the Bahamas, I would look into Starlink.
Next stop: No Name Harbour.
No Name Harbor, Why Location Matters When you Jump Off.
Miami is the shortest distance to Bimini, but the Gulf Stream flows like a conveyor belt at 2.5 knots going north. So it really helps to be at least a little bit south of Bimini, so you aren’t bucking the stream trying to go perpendicular, or even worse, south. No Name Harbour is just south enough to add a little bit of lift on the belt.
After a few hours of Sailing from Miami to No Name Harbour, we watched the sun set behind the wildly random town of Stiltsville.
If you haven’t seen it, its pretty unreal.
Nestled in the open waters of Biscayne Bay are a handful of random houses built on stilts, in the water. They date back to the 1930’s. One by one they fall prey to hurricanes, but the few that remain have been deeded to the government of Florida, as a part of the Biscayne National Park. Now there is a non profit that is meant to preserve the 7 houses remaining to showcase the richness of the park’s marine resources.
The houses on stilts speckled an otherwise unbroken horizon line of still water and sky.
Crossing the Gulf Stream to Bimini from No Name Harbour.
The next morning we left at 4am, hoping to get to Bimini early. Our weather window seemed to predict a calm crossing, but I actually found the wee hours to be unexpectedly choppy in the dark.
We were all feeling pretty sea sick. It’s so much worse at night, when you can’t focus on the horizon line to get grounded again. On our last ocean jaunt from West Palm to Miami, both the kids threw up in the cock pit. I learned pretty quick some tricks on avoiding the worst of the sickness.
Tips on Avoiding Sea Sickness for the Whole Family:
⁃ The first tip is crucial: make food the night before so you don’t have to spend anytime in the boat galley. Being inside the boat while the waves are rocking is like being inside a washing machine. And trying to make food for everyone in the midst of the jostling will take your appetite away in no time.
⁃ Another tip is to stay in the cockpit if you can. The fresh air and a slight lift above the water line is surprisingly helpful. Being down below the waterline is awful.
⁃ A tip from a friend is to give the kids drammamine the night before a crossing, and one again when they wake up. I haven’t tried this yet, but I am going to on our next go. Staying on top of the sickness is huge, and I think taking a drammamine preventatively might be really helpful. It’s so sad to watch your kids battle with the nausea and vomiting.
⁃ Carb heavy snacks are also helpful. Simple foods like saltines and oatmeal were perfect. I made the oatmeal the night before, along with some other easy to digest foods, and didn’t have to spend anytime in the kitchen while I was trying not to puke. Hunger can actually perpetuate the sea sickness. Keep yourself fed with small frequent snacks.
⁃ Keep your eyes on the horizon line! And if you can’t then try to go to sleep. It’s the only sure fired cure.
Once the sun rose, the queasiness and discomfort subsided quite a bit. It’s amazing how your feeling senses take over when you can’t utilize your sight. The waves felt twice as high when I couldn’t see them.
The rest of the trip was a breeze. We made it to Bimini by lunch time, and feasted our eyes on a stunning pallet of blues and greens that I didn’t even think were possible. A photo just can’t do it justice. The glistening shades of green and turquoise are like crystals. They dazzle. The water was so clear, it was like it wasn’t even there. We were met with spotted eagle rays as we motored into Alice Town.
Click to Clear
Nowadays, checking into the Bahamas is a breeze. Click to clear is fairly simple, and saves everyone time. Here’s a video I found incredibly helpful with easy step by step instructions: Easy step by step Click to Clear.
It was so quick in fact, we decided to to pull the anchor and continue on with a few hours of daylight remaining. We headed into the banks to shave off some of the 80 miles of open shallow water.
Crossing the Banks.
If you’re like myself, you probably thought the only crossing that mattered was the Gulf Stream.
Not so.
Our intended destination is the remote island chain of the Exumas. To get there, you cross the Gulf Stream, and then you have to cross 75 miles of open and exposed shallow water about 8-15 feet deep. After that is done, you have to cross the Tongue of the Ocean before you finally sail into to the Exumas.
Any large body of shallow water can pack a mean chop. We we were met with smooth seas along it’s entirety, but from what I hear, that is not the norm.
Since the Banks are so expansive, anchoring in the middle of it is pretty much necessary for all sailing vessels. Here’s a forum where lots of old salts give their two cents on where, how, and when to anchor on the banks: Cruisers Forum on the Banks.
Anchoring in the middle of a vast open body of water without even a rock in sight is quite an experience. Vulnerable and a little scary, but incredible. You don’t realize how much you might take the sight, or even just the knowledge of a landmass nearby for granted. Until of course, it’s gone.
That feeling of vulnerability is what etches the view permanently into our memories. Comfort and security rarely make it into the memory bank.
That night the stars lit up like an orchestra of lights. Better than anything I’ve ever seen.
The Final Crossing: The Tongue of the Ocean.
Okay, so we’ve crossed the Gulf, and we’ve crossed the banks, now the final crossing on our agenda was the Tongue of the Ocean.
The tongue of the ocean is a unique piece of ocean that is both narrow and deep, reaching over 6,000 feet down. The depth finder on our boat read 15 feet on the banks feet before rapidly going off line as the depth plunged into the thousands.
Needless to say, this unique body of water can move some big waves.
I was expecting an exciting ride across the Tounge, but instead, we were met with glass. Our perfect weather window for crossing the Gulf Stream was followed by three straight days of almost no wind.
The tongue was in a rare state when we crossed it. The water was unbroken by even a ripple. It was glass the entire way. The flying fish could be seen for miles as they danced across the water breaking the stillness.
That evening we sailed in to the Exumas. A dream of ours, 10 years in the making.
Huzzah!
A thousand and one thanks to our friend and mentor Stan, for helping us again make our dreams a reality.
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