Author Archives: Neil Cooper

December 10 — Arrival

The sun came out after lunch and the wind dropped. We motored through the afternoon to keep pace.

Getting into the harbour is a bit of a tricky business. The online guides say to come in at noon so you can spot the hundreds of coral head just below the surface. We came in well after dark and relied on the chart plotters and the accuracy of the charts to get us through. we were safe as long as we stayed on the line on the chart.

That evening, tracking apps stopped moving — because we’d arrived!! Anchor down. Supper on. Silence.

After days of storms, watches, lightning, and calculations, the stillness felt strange. The silence was almost loud.

We anchored in a small cove and had a dinner out on the main table in the outdoor salon.

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December 11 — Landfall

We took the dingy into Georgetown, through the tunnel to the inner harbour, We cleared customs and immigration in the morning. It took a long time at each place. I’m not sure what they were doing. Rod had done all the paperwork on line the night before and had also paid all the fees.

We ha lunch ashore, went grocery shopping, and then back to the boat.

After 180 hours on the water, I stepped onto land — twice. It felt surreal to put a cup down and have it stay put. Everything offshore goes to ground eventually.

What did I do to celebrate getting to dry land – I went kayaking.

We moved to another small cove for the second night and went on a hike around the small islands opposite Georgetown.

The next day it was up early to dingy ashore and get a taxi to the airport.

And just like that, the passage was over.

It was quite the week – on two coasts! My greatest impression is how big the world is. Flying and driving , Zoom and FaceTime make it feel really small, but a 40ft boat in the middle of the Atlantic is really tiny and goes really slow.

December 7th – Confidence builds

The last 24 hours were markedly better. One manageable storm passed in daylight — no lightning — and we were getting better at reading the squalls: reef early, aim for the tail, keep moving.

That night brought a memorable encounter with a large freighter. We radioed to clarify intentions as our courses converged. The AIS said 380 feet long, but at night in rain, a single red running light can feel enormous. Closest approach was about 1.2 miles — safe, but close enough to raise heart rates.

The next morning delivered a gift: dolphins — a dozen of them — joined us for over ten minutes.

Later, mahi appeared at the end of our fishing line. Winds went light, forcing us to motor for a while, but morale lifted.

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December 8 — Warmth and Showers

This was the turning point.

We headed straight south on a beam reach under warm sun. Seas were still large but had settled into regular, predictable swells. You could finally move around without crashing into things. Everyone managed to shower — a huge psychological boost after days of bracing and balancing.

Patty continued her remarkable offshore baking streak, producing cookies, muffins, a birthday cake, and roasted vegetables — all while waves rolled beneath us.

Weather systems stayed at a distance, and confidence grew.

Only about 100 miles remained to the nearest Bahamian island. The finish line wasn’t visible, but it was finally thinkable.

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December 9 — Islands Ahead

We approached the Northern Bahama islands late in the day, flying along at 6½ knots. Conditions were rocky again, and making supper an athletic event..

The ETA app I’d been tinkering with predicted arrival around 11:50 the next morning — remarkably accurate, as it turned out. By the way 6.5 nautical miles per hour is 12km per hour. If you can run a 10 k race in 50 minutes you are going about the same speed as we are.

That night brought focused navigation. After days of open ocean, even a 9-mile channel felt narrow. With Rod sleeping, I held the helm, threading between land masses, watching wind angle, depth, and current. Distance is hard to judge at night; everything feels closer than it is.

Near one island frequented by cruise ships, current overwhelmed our sail speed. We were sailing at 5 knots through the water and still being pushed backward. For a while, we were effectively trapped until tide and wind finally aligned enough to let us slip free.

This was the hardest day so far. There was not much chance to grab a phone for photos or videos or to blog as we had to hang on with both hands.

December 5th morning started well: beam winds around 15 knots, current with us, both sails up, and speeds climbing to 7–8 knots. We had breakfast together and enjoyed a rare stretch of easy conversation.

By late morning, conditions shifted abruptly. Winds swung wildly and built to 23 knots with gusts to 30. Waves steepened and grew. With two reefs already in the main, we reduced the genoa further. The ride became aggressive — hopping from wave to wave — and attempts to tack for comfort didn’t help.

That evening and into the night, storms began forming directly ahead of us. Lightning followed. We switched radar to storm-tracking mode and altered course repeatedly, hoping cells would slide past. Instead, new ones kept forming directly in front of us.

All electronics — phones, iPads, computers, even Starlink — went into the oven to hopefully act as a Faraday cage in case lightning hit us and whipped out our electronics. For hours, Rod and I traded sleep for vigilance, altering course minute by minute. The lightning was intense but mostly sheet lightning, without thunder so it was hard to judge distance.

Inside the boat, movement became almost comical — crawling on hands and knees rather than trying to stand. Anything not secured went to ground.

By morning, the storms finally eased. Winds dropped into the 7–10 knot range, seas settled slightly, and we got sail back up. I started doing ETA math: every extra knot of speed meant shaving a full day off the passage. Somewhere in there, the idea for a simple ETA calculator app was born.

December 3 — Leaving the Chesapeake

We exited the Chesapeake Bay early in the afternoon and settled into offshore mode almost immediately. Once clear, the boat went onto autopilot for most of the time — remarkably smooth and reliable, almost like having a Tesla quietly driving while you supervise. It was a gentle start to what we knew would be a long passage, and spirits were high as we pointed south and watched the shoreline fade away.

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December 4 — Decision Day: The Gulf Stream

By morning, the weather window we had been watching lined up almost perfectly. Conditions looked favourable to make the Gulf Stream crossing at its narrowest and calmest point, minimizing the risk of opposing wind and current. After reviewing the options and marking routes on the chart, we committed.

By early evening, we were across the Gulf Stream and officially headed straight south. The water temperature jumped dramatically — from about 20°C to 27°C in just minutes — an unmistakable sign we’d crossed into warmer waters. You could feel the temperature change in the cabin walls! From here, it would be roughly 669 nautical miles to Georgetown, a 4½-day passage at an average speed of about 6 knots.

Cell service disappeared quickly. Starlink worked, but offshore data costs were eye-opening, so we switched to a conservative communication routine. Twice daily check-ins became the plan.

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December 5 — Settling Into the Passage

The day began with excellent wind and manageable seas. We cruised south at 5–6 knots, with Georgetown looking achievable by Tuesday or Wednesday.

Watch out!

Watches settled into a rhythm, and although sleep was still fragmented, everyone was adjusting. We decided on 1.5 hour watches which meant 1.5 hours on and 4.5 hours off. (I should use the 24 hour clock because, you know, we are on a boat!). We started with the first watch at 19:00. I did 19:00 to 20:30, then Patty, 20:30 to 22:00, Lee 22:00 to 23:30 and finally Rod 23:30 to 01:00. I slept from 9 and relieved Rod at 1:00. Patty would bounce out of bed all ready to greet me at 2:30!

Tracking our location from shore was intermittent. The AIS (Automatic Identification System is a radio system that allows us to see, be seen by, and identify all the ships within about 100 Nautical miles. It worked only when other vessels were nearby, which out here was rare. Starlink Satellite tracking filled in the gaps, but the reality of offshore sailing quickly became clear: once you’re out here, you’re largely on your own.

These days were a bit of a blur. Rain/snow, cold but with electric heat on shore power. We were getting the boat ready. Rod fell behind in the last couple weeks as the fridge failed and needed to be replaced the boat gradually became seaworthy in prep for good weather on December 3.

This next few days will be a described by using text messages, written posts and with the help of ChatGPT which I used to coordinate the description and commentary about the passages.

Seattle offers two football experiences that are famous for their noise—but the way that noise is created could not be more different. Attending games at both stadiums reveals not just how loud they are, but how intentionally that sound is produced and sustained.

We got up and had hotel breakfast – bacon, sausage, eggs, waffle station I got up early, Ben was right behind me. He actually beat me to breakfast. Derek and Ryan joined us and then we took the tram over to the Pike Place Market. No fish throwing today. We got to see Seattle’s famous gum wall. That’s something I don’t think I can unsee. The alleyway between two buildings is covered with chewed gum from the ground to the roof. Gross!

We walked with the crowd from the market to the stadium. On the way we stopped for the famous Seattle Dog at the hotdog stand outside the stadium. Aaron Weber describes these hot dogs best!

I noted an interesting thing about the climb to our seats. The higher we went, the higher the ratio of Vikings jerseys to Seahawks Jerseys. There was a noticeable shift of the color of the crowd from blue to purple the higher we went. There were a lot of people there!

During the pregame activities they sang the Canadian National Anthem. It was in tribute and thanks to all the Canadian season ticket holders who drive down each game to support the Seahawks.

Lumen Field once held the Guinness record for the loudest crowd noise. I asked Chat GPT for help with describing the noise in the two Stadiums

The game itself was a bit of a bust. The Vikings were playing their third string quarterback in his first NFL experience. It was not pretty. They did manage to get in scoring position a couple of times but untimely interceptions squashed any scoring possibility. The Vikings ended up with a goose egg for a final score.

At the end while we were standing around chatting, A Seahawks fan came up to Ben and said, “Can I ask you a question?” “Do you know what this means”, holding up her hand in the shape of a zero! She happily gloated for a while about the win and went on her merry way.

After the game we took the bus back to the hotel where we collected our stuff in the car and then the guys dropped me off at the university train station and headed back north. I took the train down to the airport and caught my red eye flight to Norfolk Virginia via Charlotte North Carolina.

I arrived in Norfolk at 9:30 am and had to wait until 5pm for Patty and Lee. Instead of sitting around in a coffee shop all day, I got a hotel room so I could sleep, work, shower and sleep some more until Patty and Lee arrived. We had arranged for a ride with Michelle, an Uber driver Rod users for his transportation needs.

We finally arrived at Sailing Vessel Oh! and Captain Rod Morris on the dock at the Deltaville Marina at about 8:30. The restaurant we planned on going to was closed so we squeezed just before closing into the restaurant at the dock for clam chowder and grilled cheese. After supper we boarded the boat as our next adventure begins.