As it turned out we left early on Friday morning, having discussed the pros and cons of an afternoon departure Thursday with strong headwinds, aggressive little seas ready to soak us to the bone, and the threat of more thunderstorms following the squall line along our path� The sun broke the horizon as red-orange lava, molten light spilling out under the low, distant clouds at first, then breaching the surface to sear the sky clean of color. Faith had already pulled anchor and was powering westward down the Hawk channel. Once free of the encumbering islands and reefs off both beams her sails were raised and the real adventure begun: the next 3 � months would be spent in truly foreign waters. Our heading was leading toward the crescent-shaped Marquesas Keys followed by the Dry Tortugas, the last outpost of US territorial waters. Twenty miles west of the stranded little islands we turned south, in international waters, on a heading for Cuba.
All of us would have loved to have had Cuba as an option for stopping over for a night � whether we decided to use it or not. Unfortunately, politics of late have been, shall we say, less than conducive toward encouraging Cuban tourism from the US. They figure, "You'll like it so much you won't need your boat again." That's right � the Navy, Coast Guard, Customs, and Neptune knows who else has the authority to seize any vessel that has been to Cuba and is owned and operated by a US citizen. To think that when we'd begun planning just a few years ago the situation looked pretty hopeful�.that Tuesday back in November was a sad day for sailors�
Nevertheless, our journey took us into Cuban waters. Peter, our friend in Key West, had suggested a tactic for avoiding the slam against the Gulf Stream we'd have entailed by making a straight shot for Isla Mujeres off the Yucatan: "When you get out about 20 miles from Dry Tortugas," he'd waved his beer in an expansive circle to emphasize the leeway we would have in his estimate, "go south � no go south-southwest � right for Cuba. When you get, I don't know, maybe 12 miles off? You turn west-southwest for Mujeres. That's the back current, it'll bring you right along the coast. Lot quicker. I just did it myself in a boat not much bigger�" Brian and Peter did some figuring on the charts and it seemed Peter's advice was right on the money. So here we were.
It was later in the evening, as we progressed on our southward swing, that Brian watched the compass light wink out, flicker on, and finally cut out altogether. This happened exactly at the same time that complete darkness fell and ship traffic � REALLY BIG SHIP TRAFFIC � was close on all sides. Brian is a very experienced sailor � you should hear the one about him using a vicegrips as a tiller to bring us into port 20-odd years ago � but he was definitely a tad stressed trying to hold our course blindly and be aware of and avoid the supertankers and fishermen while every fifth wave was breaking on the port beam, sending blasts of (thankfully!) warm, salty water sloshing all over he and Eric. I was below, already taking apart the apparatus for plugging the compass into the cigarette lighter and finding not one but two shorts in it. As I struggled epically with the tiny connections, barely visible in the red light (the cabin light has a "red" setting which provides enough light to see by if, say, you need to tie your shoe), I heard a bellow from above: "Ahhh!!" Brian was a rumpled shadow hunched over the tiller, grasping his stomach. A wet slapping sound emanated from the deck beside him. The sound congealed into a bullet-shaped form as my eyes adjusted to the dim illumination provided by the starry sky. Yes, it had happened again! As predicted, he had returned. "Sayonara!" quoth the flying fish as Eric escorted him back to murky depths. I could swear he gave us the fin as he swam away�
Crisis situation back under control, the compass was reattached and we sailed off, ungently, into that good night. Hasta!
Day 37: Trials and Tribulations
May seventh was a dark, dreary day in every way but the weather. We had a good breeze to fill the sails and watched the mountainous shores of Cuba coalesce before our eyes as the morning unfolded. But something treacherous was lurking just below the placid surface of our voyage's sleek continuum. Our stay at Key West had literally and figuratively taken the wind from our sails. For the past month we'd generated what felt like an unstoppable momentum, cruising past all expectation while surpassing even our own ambitious yearnings for a fair journey. The extended stay at the last US port of call (which was exacerbated by the Captain's misplaced passport�) became the immovable object confronting our unstoppable force. The result was a psychologically grinding halt � the end of our saga of pressing onward to escape US waters, the beginning chapter of our extranational expedition. And all was not well. The night before we had begun to notice that our running lights were dimming. Well after dark we'd been compelled to switch off all of the ship's lights excepting the absolutely essential running and compass lights. Then we had to eliminate all but the mast and compass lights. Our batteries were dangerously depleted and somehow not charging when we ran the engine. Sailing a major shipping lane unilluminated is tantamount to driving a mountain pass at high speed with no headlights. Even we had to balk at the prospect. We greeted the sunrise with apprehension but also with hope � hope that was dashed as matters compounded themselves. Firstly the batteries were down, secondly the alternator on the engine seemed to be out of whack, thirdly our tempers were starting to flare under the stresses, and fourthly even the new sponge was a disintegrating wreck. Then Brian and I sat down to do some accounting and discovered that we were in the red for our projected expenditures at that point in the trip. "I don't want to face it, but there it is," Brian dejectedly told me. "Right now we're underfunded, everything on board is breaking, we're sailing in unfriendly waters and I can't be sure I'll be able to continue all the way through with you." Reality is a bitch. And we were delivering puppies. All day I struggled with the electric to no avail. Night fell like a burial shroud. The only saving grace was Brian's brilliant foresight in packing a solar panel for recharging purposes�.
However, it proved somewhat limited in its capacity to restore enough charge to last as long as necessary. Within three hours of sunset we were back to just mast and compass lights. My shift at the tiller ended and I climbed below to wallow in a half-sleep racked by visions of the utter failure of our venture. It was from this delirium that I was torn by a sound I hope fervently never to hear again: a guttural metallic wrenching as the boom divorced itself from the mast, tearing the mainsail as it fell to the deck like a guillotine.