Wednesday 2 March, passage to Honduras Bay Islands, day 2: Fast sailing, rain, hitting a reef on arrival, anchoring next to 3 other British yachts behind Graham’s Cay.
At midnight we are fast reaching. And I mean FAST! Hull speed is 9kts and SOG over 10kts, due to an unexpected current in our favor. At night the boat speed always seems exaggerated to our senses. Maybe it’s because of the darkness that the sound of the water rushing passed is enhanced. Who knows, but it definitely feels very fast, and I cannot stop admiring how Cloudy Bay is ploughing along throwing white water from the bow which then rushes passed the cockpit at great speed, glittering with phosphorescence (micro plankton which glow when disturbed). There is also a phosphorescent glow at our stern where from the rudder cutting through the water. The only word to describe it is awesome.
We are now in the middle of what seems to be a popular shipping route. There are 8 ships on the AIS all crossing our path. I have to make a VHF-call to 2 of them in the space of 40 minutes to ask their course intentions, because the AIS is showing we are on a firm collision course. First voice has an Indian accent, and he obliges to steer around our stern, and the second is what sounds like a Filipino voice and he too changes course for us. Ahhh … AIS, what did we do before AIS? It’s so comforting to know these huge ships can clearly see us on their AIS just as well as we can see them. Previously, before AIS, they would have to spot us on their radar, or worse visually see our tiny single navigation light. Meaning that most of the time, they would never have seen us, leaving the onus totally on the sailing yacht to not be run down.
The last ship passing is a huge cruise liner, its AIS telling me that its destination is Rotan Island. The same islands we are heading to. It passes us with the usual glare of lights that all cruise liners have. I really have the urge to call him up and tell him to stop his light pollution!
In the morning we try fishing again. We had tried the previous day but got fed up with the endless hauling in of the line to remove sargassum seaweed. This morning we do get a bite. But only a bite. At first the line goes bzzzzz off the reel then stops, and we think it must be weed again. But when I reel it in, there is nothing left on the end except the bare leader line with marks on this. Hook and my new lure have gone. Whatever we had caught must have bitten right through the line. Hmmm so much for my new “invisible” leader line. It will be back to a metal braided leader from now on.
And talking of sealife, we are later joined by a pod of dolphins on the bow and we rush forward to do our customary “hellos” (yes … we both speak dolphin, fluently). But when they don’t respond to my request to move over to the starboard side where the light is better for video, I realise they are not dolphins. They look and act like dolphins, but they don’t have the classic dolphin snout. Their mouth ends right at the front of their head, such that when they come out the water for breath, they look like they have a huge smile on their face. Later on I ask on the Honduras Cruisers Net (facebook) and people confirm they were in fact pilot whales and it seems many other yachts have experienced a similar greeting as they arrive to the islands.
Our fast sailing continues up to mid-morning. In the early dawn light, the sky around us is clear and starlit, but up ahead on the horizon there is a line of dark clouds. We are clearly in for a weather change.
The change comes mid-morning. One minute we are ploughing along on a beam reach with 18kts of wind, and the next minute the wind drops and quickly comes forward of the beam. And very quickly we are hard on the wind and still not managing to point in the desired direction. Pffff, we have come so far and so fast, it is hard to believe we will now have a slow upwind sail for the last 50 miles. But the wind continued to die, to the point we cannot even effectively sail anymore, leaving us no choice but to motor the last few hours.
When 42 miles from the islands we are surprised to be able to see the land. We really had no idea the islands were mountainous. As we finally, and slowly, approach we can see rain ahead, breaking over the islands leeward side. Great! We will be able to wash off all the salt spray that is now covering everything on deck. But we are not that fortunate. Over the next few hours there is rain all around us, but not on our exact position.
As we draw level with Guanaja’s western tip, heavy rain appears just to our port side and although we are desperate to go and anchor, we decide (well, Captain decides!) to divert into the rain for a wash-off. The tactic is only partially successful, because the rain is going away from us as fast as we motor towards it. We do get a sprinkle, enough to at least loosen the salt, but not enough for a proper rinse. So we abort and get back to the process of arriving.
Once passed the tip of the island we must motor 5 miles up the southern side to anchor inside the protection of the reef. As we do so we are rather perplexed what the “island” is in the distance, to the south of us. Then we realise, it is actually the mainland some 50nm miles away. Goodness, those mountains must be very high to stand out as they do. Maybe we should pay the mainland a visit afterall.
Ideally, we should anchor right next to the unique main town of Guanaja, called Sheen Cay, ready for check-in tomorrow. This town is interesting because it has been established over the centuries on top of what was a reef island. And it is now crammed with buildings all on top of each other with the outer ones build over the water on stilts. A bit odd given the rest of the island is pretty devoid of development and we wonder why the main town would have developed this way?
As we approach Sheen Cay, we see lots of boat movements where we plan to anchor, which won’t make for a peaceful night. So we move on passed it, up to Dunbar Rock. This is a rock in the bay with a huge hotel built on top of it and there is an anchorage behind it. As we are circling to anchor, we are surprised to see Allen from S/Y Seminal Wind approaching in his dinghy. The same Allen whom I had briefly met in El Cid Marina last week. He warns it’s not a good place to anchor and beckons us to go a further 3 miles north to where they are anchored, next to Graham’s Place.
As we head that way, and apparently in safe water (~10m deep) we suddenly and quite violently hit an isolated coral head with a big bang! Then scrape off and back into deeper water. WTF! There was nothing indicating this on the chart!
I didn’t think it sounded so bad, but Oana, who was on the bow toilet at the time, said there was a horrendous graunching noise from inside the boat. Damn it. We just pray there is no serious damage. I really must fit a forward-facing sonar. From now on, as we go even more remote (like Pacific and SE Asia), there won’t even be charts, let alone inaccurate ones, and there is no way Oana will agree to sitting on the lower spreader for hours on end, trying to do a visual. From now on, we must at least be observing from the bow.
Still in shock, we gently motor up to the other 3 yachts anchored behind the Cays. Then anchor in 9 meters of calm water. Coincidentally all 3 yachts are British registered. And 2 of them we know. Allen from El Cid, and a Moody 44 that had been anchored next to us in Key West. It’s a small world.
Although under the grey clouds the light is not the best, we do get the impression the island is very pretty. Hilly with lush green vegetation. We really look forward to seeing it in the morning sunlight. But now, our task is to tidy up the deck, eat, relax, and get to bed early. This anchorage seems to be perfect for a nice peaceful post-passage sleep.
Tomorrow we go to town to complete the check in. Hopefully it won’t be anything like as arduous as Mexico was.
1 comment
Comments are closed.
Add Comment