Our final multi-day passage on Contigo would have been memorable simply due to the experience. The universe decided we needed to depart this cruising adventure with a bang. May 2024.
We were twelve hours in – time to prepare for our respective four-hour watches. Late that morning, we had departed the westernmost island of the Bahamas, en route to North Carolina. The day had been uneventful except for a bird that had flown into our cabin, hoping to hitch a ride to the states perched on our bed. Not wanting to add “wash sheets” to our list of to-do’s upon arrival, there was a brief intervention consisting of me singing and coaxing the bird outside. The hours otherwise crept along, defined only by turning the engine on when Contigo had all but ground to a halt due to the light and variable winds.
I was on deck first. I settled into my seat, popped in one ear bud and set a timer on my phone for every 15 minutes, when I would get up, look around 360 degrees and check the chart plotter. Thankful for the dry and warm evening, I sat in the cockpit staring aft, trying not to look directly at the garish lights pulsating along the coast.
Night watches are ideally boring, a gift of uninterrupted deep slumber for your off-watch partner. With no planned sail or course changes, I looked forward to the time alone.
We were on our way to Beaufort, North Carolina, where we planned to haul out Contigo for several months while we traveled to visit family. The Bahamas had been wonderful, but we knew when we were settling – and when we were challenging ourselves. When we first arrived in 2017, we were kept on our toes: completing the immigration process, assimilating being in a foreign country but with our “home” and all our belongings, respecting the fact that simple household tasks such as laundry, grocery shopping, and filling up gas or diesel tanks were sometimes day-long affairs. There were anchorages in which we wouldn’t see people for days. The solitude on a Bahamian island felt wonderfully raw.
On this final trip, we felt instead the heavy load these islands were carrying, and acknowledged we were contributing to it. When we arrived to the Exumas after an overnight from Freeport, we crept into a beautiful cove where we found several boats already anchored. We were welcomed by a cruiser on a chartered boat who, after he informed us of his scope (how much anchor chain he had let out), made us both sigh. His chain could wrap around the small island. With a weary nod, we weighed anchor and Karl found us a slightly different area in which to drop the hook.
But the Bahamas still offered us so much. It had the clearest, most beautiful shades of blue water we had seen in all of our travels. Locals were kind and welcoming. Low-key spots still existed, and we chose to go directly to them, skipping the more popular destinations. We discovered a love for Cat Island, still relatively tranquil, where the wonderful hosts at Rollezz Villas cooked us a dinner of cracked conch and lobster. We rented a car to drive around the island and found what we later discovered was a famous conch salad (somewhat like a conch ceviche). Watching this cheerful Bahamian man dance around the shack preparing the salad was almost as satisfying as eating it, each takeaway container bursting not only with his generous portions but his infectious joy. My parents also made a special trip to Eleuthera to celebrate my 40th birthday. Over a week together the only decisions we needed to make were which of three restaurants (four if you included Contigo’s galley) we were going to visit for dinner, and what time we were hopping in the golf cart for ice cream.
Karl and I knew it was the last dance.
I dreamily looked towards the shoreline. About 60 miles to our port side, a fireball was barreling through the sky.
Shaking off my walk down memory lane, I quickly reviewed the options. Aliens. A declaration of war. Then I remembered we were just abeam of Cape Canaveral. This was a rocket launch! And we had front row seats!
As the fireball continued its ascent I stared in awe and questioned whether to wake Karl. This was so amazing – and hadn’t we tried to see a launch just before we left for the Bahamas earlier this year?
“Karl!” I shout-whispered.
Now, when someone is woken up from their off-watch, it better be for a good reason. A turn in weather, something broken, a sail change, impending traffic, a fisherman with a suspiciously large machete. Unique occurrences or natural phenomena, such as whales or an insane display of bio-luminescence are acceptable, but generally, uninterrupted sleep is preferred. I didn’t know where “rocket launch” fit, but it was too late now.
Karl quickly woke from my odd soft shriek, and with a confused and alarmed grunt, flew over the five feet from the daybed to the companionway afraid of what he might see.
“It’s a rocket!”
At that point Karl, not surprisingly, could barely humor me. But in my defense, as we watched the rocket’s arc together, it seemed to stop right on top of Contigo. By some coincidence that I really think only happens in cruising, we were traversing right through a “rocket debris zone.” We dumbly looked up at the sky, praying that chunks of metal that would likely sink Contigo upon impact weren’t about to rain down on our foredeck. After what felt like moments of indecision on the rocket’s part, it continued heading east. Our fears abated, but our cortisol levels remained high. With as much equanimity and patience as he could muster, Karl said thank you, but to never do that again. I settled back into my seat, bemused. Contigo’s bow coursed through the open sea.
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