Log 15: May Country Music Do Your Bidding – Arrival in Long Island

I stand on Belafonte’s bow, arm wrapped around the furled jib, like a playful kid hanging off their parent’s neck. We are approaching Calabash Bay, Long Island, Bahamas. I scan the water’s horizon for color changes. Scouring our entry path for coral heads, large rocks, and any other navigational hazard that could turn any dreamy trip to a tragic nightmare. After a smooth sail from Great Exuma to Long Island, we approach the anchorage slipping through an opening between two large reef patches. We settle into the anchorage’s crystal-clear sandy bottom.

Reading through one of our outdated Bahamas cruising guides, we learn this island was one of Colombus’ stops on his ole’ 1492 tour and there’s a monument nearby marking his arrival. And importantly, it is dedicated to honoring the Lucayan aboriginal people who once called this land home. The monument is perched on a massive, tall white stone cliff just north of us ’round the bend. A quaint resort with white cottages line the shore to our east, and I wonder how much this island has changed in the last 531 years.

We only spend one day exploring the nearby mangrove forest before we decide to make moves to get ahead of a strong west wind coming our way. This anchorage has great holding for most winds with its backwards “C” shape, but no protection from strong winds from the west, and the thought of bucking around, or even worse, popping an anchor snubber line, or even exponentially worse dragging into another boat nearby, is too much to think about.

The following morning the winds start to howl, and the waves already start to pile in, bucking us around like a bull ride – a mechanical one, sure – but a bracing ride, nonetheless. A massive catamaran is anchored too uncomfortably close behind us, making the wait for an evening departure even more vexatious. When afternoon approaches, we know it’s time to go.

Our objective it to get to Clarence Town, the island’s small capital town siting on the bottom east side of the, truly, long island. However, shallow water, and jagged reef and rock line any potential south route, and with our 5-foot keel, it eliminates that as an option for us. So, we shoot for an overnighter, aiming for a morning arrival (as to better see underwater obstructions, again).

Close to 6 pm, we tactfully exit the cut in the reef and head to deeper water. Once again, scanning our course. This time holding on tighter than before, (more like a nervous child clinging to their parent’s leg) as Belafonte’s bow dramatically jumps up and down several feet, plowing into the oncoming wind and waves. Luckily, we clear the danger zone, sit back, and turn up to navigate around the northern point of Long Island. The deep water calms the seas for now, but we must get to the leeward side of the island before the wind kicks up. Just before the sunset, we see the beautiful towering white cliffs we’ve been reading about.

We sail through the night with the help of our handy windvane. We’re nearly to Rum Cay by the time the winds shift. Well into the night, Brendan goes below to nap, as we both know I enjoy the night watch most, typically. I love staying up with the stars, gazing into speckles of bioluminescence in Belafonte’s fizzy wake, indulging my moon-howling spirit.

However, the shifting winds also brought stormy weather. Lightning began to buzz and beam through the horizon, and before too long, the shattering sounds of thunder vibrate my insides.

When we lived in a house, I enjoyed the storms, watching lightning decorate the sky like fireworks on the 4^th of July (for the United States that is). Now, the meaning behind the fireworks for Independence Day, and lyrics of the Star-Spangled Banner, stood up. It was reminiscent of a warzone border; bombs booming and lights flashing. I had the strangest sensation I could smell danger. Please stay away, please! My imagination barters with the storm’s surging energy as large waves crash into the boat’s broadside, dramatically rocking us back and forth, again. This time about 8,300 feet of dark ocean under Belafonte, and still about 28 nautical miles straight shot until our destination.

The sky lights up shades of purple streaked in white zigzagging electric lines. I feel my courage beginning to grow shy. My logical mind knew we were not yet in danger, so I didn’t wake Brendan. The windvane was working properly, the sails were already reefed down, there wasn’t much else he could do anyways. I’m perfectly capable to soldier on by myself, I think to myself. He needed to be rested and alert for his shift, or if things turned for the worst, and I do need to wake him up…

I turn on a music playlist for comfort and crank up my own vibrations. It’s a playlist from my country dance hall days back in Texas. Since leaving home, country music hasn’t felt the same. I love many music genres, and lately country music has not been at the top of that list. However, when I need that “heart fire,” it’s my go-to (close to the blues of course – I’m still a central Texas girl). For me, it’s the sound of down-home comfort. It’s an old dear friend (that maybe you haven’t talked to in while), but things pick right back up next time you meet. It fuels my strength when I’m feeling low.

I crank up the volume on my Bluetooth speaker.

I feel as though the songs do my bidding for me. I put them to work one-by-one. The bellowing notes challenge the thunder’s growl. The raspy poetic yet calloused lyrics refocuses my mind on the bigger picture. The cry of an acoustic guitar lends its grace, holding my head up. And depictions of beauty in sorrow and hope for the lonely, erase my fears as the songs echo through the cockpit. Each one plucks the strings on the slide guitar in my heart and encourages me through the storm. They do so as they did in years past when the storm that brewed was within. Now we sit together again in a very literal storm.

They shout back at the sky for me. I think of all the places these songs have been played; being brought to life through a speaker. Does Willie Nelson, George Straight, Guy Clark, Chris Stapleton, or Robert Earl Keen ponder their voice travelling through this? It’s been so long since I’ve listened to country music, fond memories quench my soul like I had been in a drought, and they feel as sweet as the smell of wet grass after a hard rain. Which right now, truly sounds sweet.

From Johnny Cash to Turnpike Troubadours, Whiskey Myers to Miranda Lambert, The Highwaymen to Tyler Childers, Loretta Lynn to Randy Rogers Band – and so much more – Time marches on, and the storm releases its grip on us. Soon, the crying fiddle in Ryan Bingham’s Sunrise sang alongside the welcoming views of the sunrise itself.

Brendan came up to the cockpit for his shift, and I went bellow to dream about Fishing in the Dark, Delta Dawn, Anybody Goin’ to San Antone, Jolene, to Live Like You Were Dying, Luckenbach Texas, a Wagon Wheel, Jambalaya (On The Bayou), Ringling Road, a One Way Ticket (Because I Can), The Gambler, and how It’s a Great Day to be Alive.

A few hours later I wake up and shuffle to the companion way to see land! A light fog mystifies the city’s distant views, but we slowly cruise into the Clarence Town anchorage. Our friends on S/V Amy Renae (@MotherLoadSailing) are in the anchorage. We look forward to hanging out with them and discussing hurricane plans. But first, we drop the hook, settle in, and crash into a comfy safe slumber. We will need the extra Z’s for the days to come.

~ Day 74

*PS- Sorry there are not many photos on this post.
As you now know, things got a little crazy and it slipped my mind. I promise to make it up in the next post.
Thank you for reading!