I’m totally exhausted, what a day!! - sailing the ‘long boat’ 16 miles along the shore of Grand Bahama Island from the movie set to its new home. I couldn’t help reminding myself that the builder, of my only means of survival, was a coffin maker by trade! The more I looked at the boat the more it unfortunately resembled a coffin; however the water that had somehow accumulated in the bottom of it helped to destroy those unsavoury images somewhat. There were 7 to choose from and the ‘boys’ wanted the one containing the water using the theory that, as it was perhaps rain water and it hadn’t leaked out, the boat must be sound and leak-free! I didn’t necessarily agree, but hey, what did I know?
It took about an hour to find all the parts (well I hoped we’d found them all) and assemble the coffin… sorry the boat - tiller, rudder, sail, oars and centerboard. I was trying valiantly to bail out the water but the ocean was against me and the waves kept splashing in as we were hoisting the mast and preparing to set off. I shouldn’t have bothered, water continued to enter the vessel even when sailing – and it wasn’t from the waves!
We took life jackets, flares, GPS, SPOT (an ingenious device that can send an SOS to your friends), VHF, EPIRB (emergency position indicating radio beacon), outboard motor, cooler and an umbrella. Don’t laugh, the umbrella was a vital piece of equipment – not only did it act as shade to keep the sun from severely burning me but believe it or not, if held in the right direction, acted as an extra sail that increased our speed. The boat was solidly built of heavy timber and needed almost a gale to move it, but unfortunately, even though the wind was blowing in the right direction there wasn’t a great deal of it. Waves were only 2 feet high but I swear they grew to tidal proportions as every painstaking hour passed by. We set sail around 10 am and didn’t reach solid ground until 2.30 in the afternoon; Peterson’s Cay, where we stopped for a break. As we pulled in a Canadian tourist approached us and said "Man, I didn’t expect white people to be sailing that boat." After an hour of rest, and snorkelling we set off once again, declining the tourist's invitation for a bite of freshly cooked fish. I wondered if that was wise, but then I wouldn't want fish to be my last meal on earth.
So there we were again bobbing around on the water, but the wind had mercifully picked up and we might even make it back before dark! It didn’t take me long to discover that I had been duped. "It will only take a few hours", "It will be an adventure," I had been told. I had absolutely no idea that the journey from start to finish would consist of 11 hours of bailing and trying to prevent third degree sunburn! When we finally reached the canal the wind had died so the outboard motor was started (mounted on the side of the boat by the way). Unfortunately (well you didn’t think it would ever be plain sailing did you?) there’s a low bridge between us and the home port so the mast had to be dismantled. Now that was fun (for me) – every time Gerry stood up and tried to undo the mast lines the boat would tip wildly. It took a while but he finally realized that no one (that would be me again) had bailed for a while and the sheer weight of the water sloshing from side to side was tipping the boat, thus unbalancing him. I for one thought that was really funny and couldn’t understand why he didn’t share my sense of humour! He bailed the boat, dismantled the mast, started the outboard and we were off with me manning the tiller…womaning the tiller. I managed to steer an almost straight course, we made it under the bridge and were in the home stretch when, you wouldn’t believe it, the motor died! That's what you get for hot rodding - he was trying to see how fast we could go with the motor on the side of the boat and a shear pin broke. 'Twas lucky the boat came with oars – I wisely stayed at the helm, as far out of reach from the oars as possible – it would have made the perfect picture but alas he wouldn’t pass me the camera!
It took about an hour to find all the parts (well I hoped we’d found them all) and assemble the coffin… sorry the boat - tiller, rudder, sail, oars and centerboard. I was trying valiantly to bail out the water but the ocean was against me and the waves kept splashing in as we were hoisting the mast and preparing to set off. I shouldn’t have bothered, water continued to enter the vessel even when sailing – and it wasn’t from the waves!
We took life jackets, flares, GPS, SPOT (an ingenious device that can send an SOS to your friends), VHF, EPIRB (emergency position indicating radio beacon), outboard motor, cooler and an umbrella. Don’t laugh, the umbrella was a vital piece of equipment – not only did it act as shade to keep the sun from severely burning me but believe it or not, if held in the right direction, acted as an extra sail that increased our speed. The boat was solidly built of heavy timber and needed almost a gale to move it, but unfortunately, even though the wind was blowing in the right direction there wasn’t a great deal of it. Waves were only 2 feet high but I swear they grew to tidal proportions as every painstaking hour passed by. We set sail around 10 am and didn’t reach solid ground until 2.30 in the afternoon; Peterson’s Cay, where we stopped for a break. As we pulled in a Canadian tourist approached us and said "Man, I didn’t expect white people to be sailing that boat." After an hour of rest, and snorkelling we set off once again, declining the tourist's invitation for a bite of freshly cooked fish. I wondered if that was wise, but then I wouldn't want fish to be my last meal on earth.
So there we were again bobbing around on the water, but the wind had mercifully picked up and we might even make it back before dark! It didn’t take me long to discover that I had been duped. "It will only take a few hours", "It will be an adventure," I had been told. I had absolutely no idea that the journey from start to finish would consist of 11 hours of bailing and trying to prevent third degree sunburn! When we finally reached the canal the wind had died so the outboard motor was started (mounted on the side of the boat by the way). Unfortunately (well you didn’t think it would ever be plain sailing did you?) there’s a low bridge between us and the home port so the mast had to be dismantled. Now that was fun (for me) – every time Gerry stood up and tried to undo the mast lines the boat would tip wildly. It took a while but he finally realized that no one (that would be me again) had bailed for a while and the sheer weight of the water sloshing from side to side was tipping the boat, thus unbalancing him. I for one thought that was really funny and couldn’t understand why he didn’t share my sense of humour! He bailed the boat, dismantled the mast, started the outboard and we were off with me manning the tiller…womaning the tiller. I managed to steer an almost straight course, we made it under the bridge and were in the home stretch when, you wouldn’t believe it, the motor died! That's what you get for hot rodding - he was trying to see how fast we could go with the motor on the side of the boat and a shear pin broke. 'Twas lucky the boat came with oars – I wisely stayed at the helm, as far out of reach from the oars as possible – it would have made the perfect picture but alas he wouldn’t pass me the camera!
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