November 28 The Mooring Ball Incident

On Saturday, November 28 we decided to leave Clarke’s Court. We went north to the main fuel dock in St Georges to top off our diesel for the travel to come. The two hour trip north was a great sail with a few light storms and great wind. Hakuna Matata slipped through the water with her new bottom paint, pushing 8 knots. We note during the brief trip that we are traveling north for the long journey home. Our southernmost and current latitude is 11 degrees, 59 minutes. A bearing to Houston, Texas, merely 2132 miles away as the crow flies on the chart plotter, is only 15 degrees off our current course. Averaging 5 knots, the average speed upon which we chart our courses, we could hit the Texas coast in only 400 hours. Maybe we will take the slow trip.

There is a remote anchorage north of the harbor, Dragon Bay, and we envision a night of seclusion and romance. A storm hits upon our arrival with 30 knot winds, so we wait for it to pass and enter the reefy anchorage. There happen to be two commercial mooring balls which are available to cruisers if not occupied by dive boats. They are unoccupied so we take one, after multiple attempts because I cannot get the captain on a ball. Once secured, we are rolling to beat the band. This will not do, and we cannot set a swell bridle since we are on a mooring ball. What to do? A plan emerges. If we swim out a long line to the second ball, we can secure our stern to it so that it acts as a swell bridle. Perfect. I will swim the line out and Craig will man-handle the boat around and secure the line to a cleat.
The water is murky after the winds and rain. As I approach the ball, suddenly there is tentacle-looking stuff right in my face. A quick backstroke keeps it out of my face but scoops it right into my chest and abdomen. Buggers! I’m hit. A quick retreat back to the boat and inspection reveals welts all over from chest to pelvis. Thankfully, my swimsuit saved tender little parts from the assault. Benadryl, ice, topical steroids and rum do little to alleviate the burn. I thought it must have been a jellyfish but further investigation revealed some weird plant/coral growing on the mooring ball pennant. I’m not sick but I’m not well. I cook dinner and hit the sack at 9pm, aforementioned romance being precluded by my skin being on fire….

Half asleep myself, 10pm and POW! What was that? I follow Craig up to the deck where we discover that the mooring ball on our stern has broken free. No evidence of wear or chafe, just a hard break in the mooring (not our line, the ball). We contemplate this sailor’s nightmare come to life. Now we do not trust the remaining mooring and we no longer feel safe as we sit, but it is pitch-black and despite reasonably accurate chart plotters, it is just plain scary to move the boat through reefs at night. But we sure can't stay here. It doesn’t take long to make the decision to make the 20 minute trip around the corner to Grand Mal Bay. We have been there before and can pull up the previous course to find a known/safe passage into the bay. We move slowly, inching our way into the bay with a spotlight and setting the hook.
On Sunday, we enjoy brunch in the cockpit along with a church service we can hear from the boat. This woman is belting out “This is the Day Which the Lord Hath Made”. That girl can sing! Nice. Then we sail back down to Prickly Bay so that we can get our propane tanks topped off and hit Budget Marine for a few items. We are leaving for the Grenadines next week. Beautiful cruising grounds but limited resources.

Sunday morning, Grand Mal Bay:

Day 2, mortal wound is healing:

Back in Prickly: