Crossing the Caicos Bank

We didn't have intentions of spending much time (or money) in Turks and Caicos so, rather than pay the customs man, we slipped out of Providenciales harbor the very next morning and headed south, leaving the "busy" port to our stern.   The wind was still in our favor, no reason to dally.  Because we woke up late after our night at sea, we chose a short day and headed just twenty miles south to tiny and deserted French Cay to lay up for the night.

(Mark brings out his "back-up shorts")

 

 

It was during our approach to French Cay that we discovered a disturbing discrepancy between where the island actually was and where it appeared on our chartplotter.  Looking forward of the bow, we were three hundred yards off the northern tip of the island.  Looking at the chartplotter, we were two and a half miles west in the middle of a reef.  We tried turning the chartplotter off and then on again.  Nope.  We dug out the users manual and figured out how to recalibrate it.  Still wrong.  Apparently, the preloaded charts were just inaccurate.  I said a little prayer of thanks that I'd decided against making straight for French Cay from Mayaguana the night before.  It was one of the options I'd considered.  If we had, we would certainly have been lost on a reef in the night.

We arrived at French Cay and accepted what protection the little cay provided in its rough and poorly protected anchorage.  It was late afternoon and we were eager to take advantage of the remaining daylight hours to get in some snorkeling and fishing.  Becca opted to stay aboard ship.  

 

Mark, Nate, and I hurried off in the dinghy, fins and masks already on, to explore the shallow reefs that surrounded us.  By the time we returned, the sun was down and darkness descending.  The temperature was dropping and the wind still blowing.  After hours in the water we were shaking and shivering so badly we could hardly operate the dinghy motor.

(Nate concentrates in the galley while Becca relaxes in the salon)

 

All of our spear fishing skills were steadily improving.  This evening, I had managed to catch three little fish which I proudly slung aboard when we got back.  I thought they were Red Snapper.  They turned out to be Squirrel Fish.  Our fish book identified them as "technically edible" and so I set to work filleting them while Nate began dinner.  After dinner, I breaded the fillets and dropped them in the fry pan with some oil.  They were not good.