Rum Cay, the Bahamian Outislands

With the wind at our backs, and the sun lowering in the cloudy afternoon, S/V Wanderlust cruised into view of Rum Cay in mid-February. We’d had a great sail from the previous night's anchorage at Conception Island, probably one of our best sails of the year. We were able to cover 25 miles without the engine - WooHoo!

This year has been an “El Nino” year, which means unusual and scattered weather patterns. For a sailor, this indicates a lack of good winds to fill the sails in the southeastern direction. We’ve had to motor or motor/sail most of our passages so far, just to go in the right direction, which costs an arm and a leg in diesel fuel. It is one of the reasons we’ve been over budget on this journey.

But in February, the winds were a-changin' and we couldn’t have been happier about it! We poured ourselves a celebratory rum drink as we watched the unobstructed sunset over the open sea at Rum Cay.

Snugged in safely at our Rum Cay anchorage, we kept our eyes peeled for the infamous "green flash," where the setting sun flashes light through the sea. Most sailors are lucky enough to see this strange phenomenon a handful of times in their lives. If all conditions are perfect, a green light flashes from where the sun meets the water. But, although the sunsets were beautiful, it wasn't our day to see the green flash.

Rum Cay is a Bahamian outisland with a population of around 70 full-time residents. There is a small village with a few restaurants, a church and a marina among other things. Rum Cay is known as the Jewel of the Bahamas, one of the best islands to visit in the whole country, and boasts some of the best coral reef and diving on the entire planet.

However things were not all well when we arrived to the island. We heard of devastation left by Hurricane Joaquin from other sailors, and boy, were they dead-on. The shoreline was stripped of sand in many places down to the pinkish stone bedrock, and all the trees were bare and dead, many pulled from the ground and now lying roots up on the beach. Many buildings and homes lay crooked and roofless along the shore, with debris and wreckage still scattered. Telephone and electrical poles lay along the street, marked with yellow caution flags. It reminded me of a Missouri tornado zone.

We had heard rumors that the outisland would be officially condemned by the Bahamian government, as the cost and effort to restore the infrastructure would be too much. But we were happy to see signs of progress, like the replanting of new fruit tree saplings (brought by fellow cruisers from George Town) along the main street to replace the ones taken by the storm, and the newly rebuilt city park. Rebuilding and overcoming is a way of life when living in a storm zone, and it made me think of the mid-western tornado alley, where Ben and I grew up. Some folks would say, “Why don’t those people on Rum Cay just give up and move out of the hurricane zone?” But same as a Missourian, a storm won’t make them leave their home. We hoped that things were on the upside for Rum Cay.

Ready for a good night’s sleep we headed down below to the cabin, but to our dismay, the anchorage at Rum Cay had some serious swell. Ben rigged up a swell bridle, connecting a line from the stern to the anchor chain so that our bow pointed into the swell instead of perpendicular to it, but unfortunately we still rolled like crazy. The swell jerked stuff from the cabinets and the countertops and made it hard to walk around the cabin, cook, use the head, play with Ruca, or do anything. It was one of the worst anchorages we had ever stayed in, and none of us got a wink of sleep.

During the day, we headed to the beach for some the stability of dry land, and took naps to make up for the horrible anchorage.

We walked around town a little, but didn't get far because the local stray dogs did not appreciate Ruca waltzing through their neighborhood! Instead, we spent our time enjoying the beach and the water on our own.

After two nights in the terrible anchorage, some pretty strong winds, and very little sleep, we couldn’t take it anymore. Although we had wanted to experience the reef, the weather hadn't allowed it yet and we couldn't bare one more night in the anchorage. We threw our hands up, waved goodbye to the beautiful coral reef we didn’t get the chance to dive, and picked up anchor.

S/V Wanderlust set out at first light for Clarencetown, Long Island of the Bahamian Outislands for some peace and quiet.

Thanks for Reading,

Ben, Quinn and Ruca

#destinations #Bahamas