Battered Bucaneers blow into the Turks.

The next morning, we arose to a thunderstorm. It knocked out power, communications and tripped a release valve on the diesel tanks spilling hundreds of gallons into the marina and mangrove area. We had to wait out the storm. Gary S and Gina walked to a famous nearby church, the church of St. Peter and St. Paul, designed and built by Father Jerome who was an architect and a priest. This is a very beautiful church with brilliantly white towering twin spires. Gary S spotted the church from 12 miles out and used it to guide us to port yesterday. There was a very narrow space in the towers with ladders that one could climb to the top. Gina could fit in the narrow confines but Gary S was relegated to watching Captain Gina climb from sight. Gary S took a picture of her from outside the tower but we’ll never get to see that cause it was on his cell phone.
The storm passed and we set to sea. June 23 10 AM 680 hours. Our trip to Crooked Island was in fairly decent water. I made bananas on english muffin sandwiches for breakfast, tuna fish for a bit later and took a much needed shower. It started to get a bit sloppy out but just around that time we ducked into the lee of Crooked and Acklins Island.
As we emerged from the lee we changed our course to a more southeasterly direction. That’s when we got our asses kicked. Gary S. was at the helm and had his hands full as he tried to steer the course in an angry sea. Water sprayed over the bridge time and again as the 6 to 8 foot waves crashed onto the starboard beam of the boat. The 25 knot winds grabbed the spray and drenched every nook and cranny as if it were butter on a Thomas’s English. Gary S. endured this beating for two and a half hours till we reached our next course change at Plana Cays. I took over the next helm and with a slight course change to a more east south east direction we were able to put the sea a little more to our stern. Still a tough sled. After getting beat up for a couple of hours Bob took his turn at the helm. We were on the windward passage and all of us were punch drunk with the incessant pounding only to be quickly pulled from our misery when we fell off a wave. The boat slammed hard, Gary S was nearly thrown out the front smiley. The last time we experienced this was off the New Jersey coast just before we cracked the muffler. No one wanted to see the inside of the cabin but then it was nearly impossible to get there. It’ll have to wait till port. Gina’s palm fell over AGAIN but this time it cracked the pot with soil all over the deck. Arriving at the Turks, we ducked into the lee, a welcome relief. Cocktails were in sight. Finally reaching our waypoint for Sellers Cut around 6:30 PM, nine hours later, we desperately search for the channel markers but cannot find them. We wander around and finally find some markers. Is this it? Steering down the channel, Gary S. pronounces this is the wrong marina. After a little discussion, we decide to keep our course. We were at the Turks and Caicos yacht club and as we would find out later a 5 star resort in process. A brandy new mega marina, hardly a boat in a slip. Can’t raise anyone on the radio or the cell so we decide what the heck lets tie up. We check to see if we have power, yup, water, yup, good to go. Our yellow quarantine flag is noticed by a customs agent and he comes over asking us questions no one really knows the answer to, at least not yet. After he asserted his authority and giving us the needed forms he reticently said if you want to get off the boat and go have dinner somewhere, feel free. Wow, what a nice gesture. We didn’t leave the boat anyway. After Gary S finally recovered a bit from the days demands he made his infamous chicken stroganoff. Not a bite was left. More grog and bed.