Log of the Cape Dory 'Atea'

[FarrellTed]

As a beneficiary of years of vicarious sailing on this forum, I finally have something to contribute for all the snow- and ice-bound Cape
Dorians this winter. I have planned a three-month cruise in the Bahamas on my Cape Dory 22D Atea. Here are excerpts from her log, more to follow.

3 February 2025. The boat was hauled to Fort Lauderdale and launched at Harbour Towne Marina, in a scenic location right next to the airport.
4 February 2025. Lading in the morning--water, food, organizing gear. In the afternoon, moved to Palm Royale Marina. Took a shakedown motor out to Port Everglades to make sure the motor and electronics were all functioning properly.
5 February 2025. Worked on organizing everything, obsessively checked the weather. Weather has been calm for about a week, conditions are good for a crossing except winds are only a hair south of due East. Based on checking the weather every day for a month, it appears to me that when winds do come out of the south, they have been rather forceful, with wave heights up to 7-8 feet. So rather than wait, decided to leave tomorrow. Filled out the Bahamas customs forms online.
6 February 2025. Plan is to sail/motor sail from Fort Lauderdale to West End, Grand Bahama. Distance 68 nm, bearing 58 degrees magnetic. I estimate if I can make 80 magnetic that will account for the current, but that is only 20 degrees off the wind, so I will probably overshoot. Crossing will take anywhere from 15 to 24 hours.
Cast off the lines around 1 pm. Topped off on fuel and ice. Made the cut at Port Everglades at 1:45 p.m. Motorsailed from 2 to 4 pm on a heading of 70 degrees. Passed a fleet of Portuguese men of war. At 4, turned off engine and started sailing, so as not to arrive in West End at 2 am. Best I could make was a heading of 55 degrees as the wind was nearly directly east and light. Speed decreased from 7.5 knots motorsailing to 4 knots under sail, making the ETA a more civilized 9 a.m. Around 4.30 pm, sailed through a school of juvenile tuna, probably only a foot long, zooming around, jumping out of the water, and feeding. Around 5 p.m., the GPS is showing I am moving on a 26 degree heading, even with the boat pointed at 50 degrees, due to the Gulf Stream. The boat feels like it is sailing at around 1-2 knots, but the GPS shows 5 knots. Around 5.15 wind hauled just a hair further south and freshened a tiny bit, so the GPS showed a heading of 30 degrees. Around 6, it became obvious that if I continued solely under sail, I would end up in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I would love to visit there some day, but today is not the day. Fired up the iron wind and pointed Atea due East. 7 p.m. Despite a bright half moon, Mars, Venus, and Orion (including his sword, but not his bow, obscured by the moon) were all visible. North Star hidden behind fair weather clouds. 7.45 p.m. Bright, long-lasting shooting star. 8 p.m. Big Dipper rising in the NE, standing on its handle. Not sure I've ever seen it from this angle before, certainly not from my own boat crossing the Gulf Stream. In any case, it is reassuring to see that the North Star agrees with my compass, I'm heading East. 9.30 p.m. Another shooting star. Position 32 nm due West of West End. Trying to flatten the mainsail to make more easting. 11.15 p.m. Tacked toward West End, continuing to motor sail. Heading 150. Speed slowed from 5.5 knots to 3.7 knots, so still in the Gulf Stream, but not as strong as earlier. 11.30 p.m. Turned off engine as wind has turned a bit North of East. Making 3 knots. Lovely sailing in moon and starlight.
7 February 2025. 2.45 a.m. Moon set. West End is now 20 nm directly upwind. Turned motor back on. Motored slowly to arrive after customs opens. 8 a.m. Arrived off the Old Bahama Bay marina at West End. What a lovely place this is. Small, quiet, with a beautiful beach on the north side of the island and a small, attractive resort. Checked in with customs, they authorized a 100-day stay. Yippee!

From Port Everglades to West End was 68 nm. Since I overshot by about 8 miles, total distance sailed was approximately 84 miles. Used 2.5 gallons of diesel in 13 hours of motoring.

More to follow when internet is available. . .

[Jim Walsh]

Thank you for sharing your cruise with the forum members. For those of use whose boats are winterized and sitting on the hard under their snow covered winter covers, it’s a welcome break from looking out upon a snowy landscape. Please drop us a progress report of your cruise when able.
Best of luck and stay safe.

[FarrellTed]

8 February 2025. 1000, Headed out of West End. Tried to take the cut south of Indian Cay, but it was too shallow, so turned around and headed north to the main channel north of Indian Rock. Once through the cut, raised sails and hand steered for about an hour until out of the shallow, narrow, unmarked channel. Destination is Mangrove Cay, about 21 nm NE of West End. Sailed at 3.5 to 4.8 knots in light 8 knot E breeze. Crazy clear blue & green Bahamian water that I haven't seen in 25 years. Wow. Set auto pilot at 1115 on approximately 60 degree heading. Will continue that heading as wind allows until 1415, then evaluate. 1215, out of sight of land. Water is 14 feet deep, easy to see the bottom. Unable to maintain 60 degrees as wind lightens. Speed drops to 2.5-3 knots. Aiming to tack at 27.02 N, 78.47W in order to get to Mangrove Cay, located at 26.54N, 78.38W. 1500 Position 26.56N, 78.52W. 1518 visited by a tern, who flew three times round the boat, decided I was boring, and left me to my own devices. 1600 position 26.59N, 78.50W. Wind freshening just a bit. 1650 tacked toward Mangrove Cay. We need a course of 130 degrees to get there, best I can do is 160. 1800 position 26.57N 78.47W. Speed up to 4.5 knots. Heading 150. We are 8 miles from Mangrove Cay, bearing 105 degrees. Time to motorsail. Sigh. Sailed 24 miles, made 13 mi. E but needed 8 more. Arrived Mangrove Cay at 9 p.m. Bright moonlit night. No sound but me and a couple birds. Very difficult to make out the island as it lies so low. Next day's plan is to head to the Grand Cays, 20 nm more or less N from here. Hoping to get some better sailing in.

[Carl Thunberg]

I saw your post on FB, too. Thanks for posting it here, where there is more opportunity for more detailed log posting like this. Enjoy your time there. Those of us with small boats admire what you are doing.

[FarrellTed]

9 February 2025. Up with the sun around 0700. No wonder it was so hard to see Mangrove Cay last night--it's barely above the water. There was a nice light breeze from the SE, so I hauled up sails and anchor & sailed off the mooring. Heading toward the Grand Cays, about 21 nm NE of Mangrove.
Had a beautiful couple hours sailing in the incredible waters of the little Bahama Bank, soon out of sight of land and any other boats. It's a bit disturbing that Garmin's chartplotter does not have any of the cays NE of Great Sale Cay and Spanish Cay, but the GPS of course helps. I have the Explorer paper charts, which are very detailed. By 0945, the wind had completely died, Force 000. Had to haul in the sails and start motoring. 1000, scared up some flying fish. These are not the ones with wings, like in the Pacific; their lower tail fin is really long and stays in the water while the rest of the fish is in the air. Wonder how they do that. Sort of the same principle as windfoiling, I guess. 1123, Land Ho! Actually Triangle Rocks, a few miles S of the Grand Cays. 1143, Dolphins! A small pod of 4 dolphins announced their presence by porpoising toward me from behind. They quickly caught up (I was doing about 5 knots) and two of them started playing in the bow wave. Just a magical experience to have that happen on your own boat. I've seen porpoises riding the bow wave of the Robert W Seamans while riding on the bowsprit, but that is a 125 foot ship. Riding on the pulpit of a Cape Dory 22 puts you a little closer! Unfortunately the bow wave of a 22 doesn't offer a whole lot to interest the porpoises, they left after only about 5 minutes. Still, great fun. After the dolphins left, the water got extremely shallow (were they warning me?), so I had to pay close attention to the channel around Triangle Rocks. Around 1215, a nice breeze sprung up, so I sailed for about an hour. The breeze died after an hour, so it was back to motoring. Arrived at Rosie's Place, Little Grand Cay, around 1500. Some nice fishermen gave me a couple filets of yellow-eye snapper, which I fried up with some salt & pepper. Served with canned corn, kidney beans, and tortillas, it was a pretty good meal.

10 February 2025. The plan was to take my time along the cays between Grand and Spanish Cay, but rumors of a hard blow from the South made me reconsider. So today, with no wind, the plan is to motor 53 miles to Spanish Cay, the first harbor with any facilities towards the Abacos. Not ideal, but it would be worse to get stuck out with no facilities or secure harbors if it gets really lively. Other than getting stuck on Carter's Bank for a couple hours due to a super-low tide, there wasn't anything remarkable about motoring all day. The water is beautiful, the cays are empty, there are no houses, no boats. You can see the bottom everywhere, but it is deceptive because the water is so clear. Arrived at Spanish Cay around 9 pm.

11 February 2025. Spent the day at Spanish Cay. A beautiful island, originally a resort for wealthy folks in the 1950s, clearly a landscape architect paid attention to winding the roads and planting beautiful trees in all the right spots. Now it's kind of empty, I think there were 3 boats and 1 party of guests at the resort while I was there. People were very nice.

12 February 2025. Left Spanish Cay at 0930. Destination Nunjack Cay, 12 nm S and E of Spanish. With a brisk southerly breeze of about 12-15 knots, I put a reef in the main before heading out. Wow the CD 22 *loves* a 12-14 knot breeze. Total of 6 legs to make the 12 miles: 3 short tacks (about 2 nm) directly across to Great Abaco on port tack; three longer tacks nearly parallel to the Great Abaco coast, trending toward the cays; each of these was about 4 miles. Great sailing--fast, lively, fun. The boat stayed pretty level due to the reef in the main, though I dipped the rail a couple times, just for fun. Speed was 4.8 to 5.3 knots, but at one point in a particularly flat stretch of water the GPS said I was doing 6.04 knots. Must be a current. On the 6th tack I made it to the anchorage between Nunjack and Crab Cays. Arrived 1330, so 18 nm of sailing in 4 hours. Sailed around the anchorage and picked a sandy spot to anchor. 8 feet of water with 50 feet of scope. Dove on the anchor to see it was properly set--I'm not overly confident in my anchoring skills. I have 12 feet of chain & about 150 feet of nylon rode. Noticed the end of the chain bobbing up & down, so put out a few more feet of line. Saw a 4 foot long barracuda on my way back to the boat. It was the fattest barracuda I have ever seen in my life. Life must be good here, if you're a barracuda.

[JD-MDR]

Nice posts. Sounds like a great time

[FarrellTed]

13 Feb. 2025. Stayed on Nunjack Cay for the day. Kayaked about 45 minutes out to the ocean side of the Cay, hiked up to north end of island. Saw about 25 green turtles in Nunjack Harbor.


13 Feb. 2025. Waited for wind to come up, then raised sails & anchor around 1030. E wind about 5 knots, gradually freshening to 8 or so. Quick easy sail over to Green Turtle Cay, arrived at 1330. 12 nm. Stayed at Donny's Marina in Black Sound near the New Plymouth settlement. Donny has fostered a great little community where everyone is unusually helpful and friendly. Highly recommended!

17 Feb. 2025. Cast off lines at 0945. Motored out of Black Sound. Raised reefed mainsail at 10 am. Expected more wind than we actually got, from N at 8 knots, freshening at times to 10. Destination Treasure Cay by Dont Rock passage. Dont Rock is very shallow but passable at high tide; it avoids going out into the Atlantic in the Whale Cay passage, which can apparently get hairy when the outgoing tide meets incoming ocean swells. This is the first downwind passage of the trip. Skies very cloudy as a front is coming through; there is a major ice/snow storm in the Northeast US. Eventually settled on a broad reach, heading 140. Uncharacteristically, I took the tide into account, and timed my arrival at Dont Rock at 1130, an hour before high tide. Glided along at 4 knots. As I approached Whale Cay, the water became a bit of a washing machine as the NE ocean swells curved around either side of the cay and met in the middle of the Sea of Abaco at Dont Rock. This must be what creates the sand bar here that stretches all the way across from Great Abaco to Whale Cay. Kept a close eye on the depth sounder. Approaching Dont Rock from the N, we were in 20 feet, steadily declining until at a couple points I saw 5 feet. Since my depth sounder adds about a foot to the actual depth, I had only a foot of water under the keel. After Dont Rock, the water deepened to a more comfortable 8 feet. I then jibed toward Treasure Cay. Arrived outside the canals at 1230. 11 nm. Motored into the canals and found a very protected spot close to 'town'. The place was severely damaged in Hurricane Dorian, and really hasn't recovered. Took a walk on Treasure Cay beach, which is about 3 miles long, with nice soft sand and gorgeous blue waters.

18 Feb. 2025. Anchor up at 0845. Motored out of canals. Sails up, mainsail still reefed, at 0900. Strong ESE wind at 15 knots. Waves were all over the place, from 3 different directions. Fighting waves & probably a current, made only 3.5 knots as I beat my way along the coast of Great Abaco. Tacked at 10:30 and made it to the northern tip of Great Guana Cay by 11:30, making about 5 knots, still with significant chop. Great Guana is about 7 miles long. The northern end has some beautiful beaches and sand spits. Most of the island is gated communities for the glitterati. Much easier sailing along the coast of Great Guana in the lee of the island, though still pointing fairly high. In fact I was enjoying sailing in the flat water so much I passed my destination of Fisher's Bay and continued on to Foot's Cay, a tiny little island with either a small hotel or a very large house. Tacked back to Fisher's Bay. Anchored in 6 feet of water at 1330. 14 nm.

[FarrellTed]

Sorry it has been a while since I posted, so this is a bit of a monster. Currently in Governor's Harbour, Eleuthera, at the beautiful Haynes Memorial Library.

19 Feb 2025. Not much to do on Great Guana, the whole island is blocked off. Sails up by 1100, sailed off anchor. Wind SE very fresh, 15-17 knots. First tack course 180. In flat water as I started I soon hit 5 knots under reefed main & jib. Soon slowed to 4 knots in 2.5 foot chop. Sailed straight over to Great Abaco. Tacked toward Man o’ War Cay at 1200. Made it to the channel between Man o’War and Garden Cays in one tack. Wind clocked around to S and lightened a bit. Still lost of chop until I made it into the lee of the cays that extend like a cape to the SE of Marsh Harbor. Short-tacked twice and made it into the harbor at Man o’War Cay under sail. Docked at Edwin’s Boatyard at 3 pm. 11 nm.

20 Feb 2025. Spent day in Man o’War Cay. They have a great boatbuilding tradition here; Albury Brothers Boats are made here. Saw a Beetle Cat on the north end of the island; turns out two families from Cape Cod have houses here. Felt like home. I do want one of the little wooden sailing dinghies they build here; one of them would do quite well in West Falmouth harbor.

21 Feb 2025. Brisk NE winds predicted, so up early to sail to Marsh Harbor to greet La Reina. You may sail for an Admiral, but my commander and life companion is the Queen of the Western Seas. Raised the reefed main and made over 5 knots downwind. I was running the motor to charge up the batteries, but after 45 minutes the engine died. Sounded like no fuel. Very concerning with a very brisk 15 knot NE breeze that was gusting higher. Sailed upwind of the marina and anchored to try to diagnose the problem. Not hard to diagnose—the secondary fuel filter was sitting in the pan underneath the engine. The secondary fuel filter had vibrated off the engine. Unfortunately, the fuel filter cover was nowhere to be seen. Set docking lines, raised the main, raised the anchor, and sailed to the marina entrance. Had to enter upwind and dock under sail. Luckily I have sailed Atea without an engine a fair amount and there was an available dock (for superyachts) right at the marina entrance. Kudos to the captain of the superyacht Everglade, who was really helpful. I was fairly certain the fuel filter cover must be in the deepest part of the bilge, so he lent me some grabbers and 2 different magnets to try to fish it out. Of course the bilge was full of fuel. None of these things worked, so I went to a couple local boatyards to see if they might have a replacement. Of course, replacement parts for forty-year old engines are not generally available. Finally realized I had a better angle from the bilge hatch forward of the engine. I managed to push the filter cover out of the fuel sludge with the boathook, then get my gaff onto the cover and fish it out. Filled the filter with fuel, put it all back together, and Huzzah! she fired right up. Got her into her proper slip without further drama. The filter assembly did not go back together perfectly, so I will bring her to the Yanmar dealer on Man o’War Cay later this week. 5 nm.

22 Feb 2025. Motored from Marsh Harbor to Elbow Cay, 15 knots on the nose. Wet.

23 Feb. 2025. Sailed S from our dock near Tahiti Beach on Elbow Cay. Light NE breeze. Sailed as far as Tilloo Pond, a narrow, quiet pond parallel to the cay, which runs N-S. Furled the jib and sailed into the inlet, which is only a few yards wide. A variety of turtles popped their heads out to observe. Turned around and headed back N; the wind had clocked E, so we had a nice leisurely beam reach back to Elbow Cay. Docked at around 3 pm. 8 nm. Later went down to Tahiti Beach. It was heartening to see dozens of juvenile conch in the shallows all around the beach. Also saw sand dollars, several species of large starfish, and some young turtles. What a beautiful place.

25 Feb 2025. Sailed to Man o’War Cay to get someone to look at the engine. Wind was light from the NE, so we tacked up toward Marsh Harbor, back across to Hope Town, then across to MOW. The mechanic found that the old filter had come apart. Apparently the top of the filter has two layers of metal rings separated by an O ring. The upper layer has a lip that fits into the fuel system. My filter had fallen apart; the upper part had gotten stuck in the fuel filter assembly and the bottom had fallen into the engine pan. When I replaced it, all the parts were present, but not fitting together exactly. The mechanic put it all together and bled the system, including the injectors, and the engine now runs much smoother than before. Also bought a bunch of diesel diapers to clean out the bilge without desecrating all the beautiful water in the Abacos. Easy late afternoon broad reach back to Elbow Cay. 13 nm.

28 Feb 2025. Sailed to Hope Town to see the light house. Close reach to get there. In the afternoon, the wind was only 1-2 knots; on a ‘run’ for a couple miles, but then the wind died entirely so we motored back to the dock. 6 nm.

1 Mar 2025. Left dock at Elbow Cay at 1130 after dropping La Reina off at the airport. No wind, so I started motoring S toward Little Harbor. Finally got some wind from ESE after I passed Tilloo Bank. Sailed the rest of the way, tacking close-hauled into an 8 knot breeze. Arrived at Little Harbor around 1500. Little Harbor is beautiful, protected by high stone walls on E & W, with a sheltered beach in the middle. Went ashore for a beer at Pete’s Pub. This is the archetypal beach bar—palm thatched palapas, surrounded by verdant palm trees; sand floor and rough lumber construction. From the rafters hang hundreds of T-Shirts from the crew of every kind of boat imaginable. More interesting is the brass foundry next door. In the 1950s, the Bahamas most famous sculptor, Pete Johnston, settled in Little Harbor. The bronze pieces are very fine—creative, beautifully detailed, and dramatic. All that good sculpture should be. Made me wish I were rich, as the pieces cost $10,000-$20,000 each. I’d love to bring one home with me. Ah, well, they wouldn’t fit in the boat in any case. Spent the night anchored in Little Harbor, expecting to sail to Eleuthra early the next morning. 12 nm.

2 Mar 2025. Woke at 0430 for sail to Eleuthra. Saw amazing thunderstorms off the coast. There were roiling clouds, tinted a dangerous shade of yellowish red from the lightning; rolling thunder, and thunderbolts shooting down into the sea. Shivered a bit and got back in my bunk; radar says this will go on until noon.
0830. Got underway under power to sail to Cherokee Settlement, about 6 nm S of Little Harbor. Thunderstorms nowhere to be seen. Getting to Cherokee will put me a tiny bit closer to Eleuthra, & I might be able to get myself some water & ice. As as I got to the cut between Grand Abaco & Lynard Cay, I stared to see the big ocean swells come in. The only time I have sailed on true ocean swells was in the RW Seamans, a 135-foot brigantine that the Sea Education Association operates as a maritime science & history program for college students. One of my best sailing experiences was in the Marquesas. I climbed up the mast and out onto the end of a yardarm while we were sailing in massive Pacific swells. From aloft you could feel the sheer power of thousands of square feet of sail driving the 350 ton ship over the enormous swells. These Atlantic swells were much smaller, only 3 feet or so, but they seemed like huge mountains of water, moving smoothly, implacably, until exploding against the Bahamian ironshore. Headed under sail SSW along the coast of Great Abaco, which here is mostly cliffs about 30-50 feet high. Rounded Ocean Point about 200 yards offshore so I could see the waves crashing on the cliffs. The water here is ridiculously clear; seeing the bottom at 40 feet is easy. At one point I was seeing the bottom when my depth sounder read 64 feet. Lots of coral, mixed in with patches of sand. After clearing Ocean Point, headed SW for Cherokee Point. Saw a very large turtle near the coral reef just N of Cherokee Point. Motored in toward the settlement and anchored at 1130. Went in search of ice & water, but it is Sunday so both stores in the settlement are closed. Because there was less than 5 feet of water and the tide was dropping, I headed out to the beach sheltered by Cherokee Point, known as Little Bay. Snorkeled on anchor to ensure it was properly set, as the wind was fairly fresh. Anchor was good; bottom still looks nice & clean after a month in the Bahamas. Around sunset, a pod of dolphins came hunting in the anchorage. They must have found fish to eat because they were around for half an hour, swimming together in circles, presumably herding their prey. By the end they seemed pretty happy. One jumped clear out of the water; then I saw a dolphin push its friend by the tail so the friend also was able to leap entirely out of the water. Much fun was had by all, especially me, as this kind of entertainment is better than TV. 9 nm.

3 Mar 2025. Alarm was set for 0330, but I woke at 0130. Nervous about predicted strong E winds by 7 pm, I decided on an early start. Conditions ideal, 10 knots from N. Put up main, hauled up anchor, and sailed out of Cherokee Sound. Destination Egg Island, Eleuthra, 46 nm almost due S, then a further 4 nm NE to Royal Island, with a good sheltered harbor to wait out the wind. Mostly clear night with tons of stars. Once I cleared Cherokee Point & the reef opposite, only about half a mile from the anchorage, I tried to set the jib, but as we were headed dead downwind and I couldn’t manage to get her to go wing & wing in the dark, I furled it again. Started on starboard tack with the wind just a hair W of due N. I set the autopilot and rested as much as I could. The lights of Cherokee were bright behind me for at least 15 miles. Around 0430, the autopilot jibed the boat to a port tack. Wind was starting to clock to the E, and the autopilot was also having trouble steering due to the swells, which were much larger, nearly as large as the Pacific swells I was yammering on about yesterday. The swells also feel bigger on a boat that is 15% of the length and 5% of the tonnage. I picked a star and started steering by her. Wind slowly picked up and clocked NE as the night went along. The swells gradually grew larger. Mostly sailed along calmly at 4-5 knots. Depth 4300 meters. Wow. Started surfing down the swells at speeds up to 7.7 knots. At 0645, just after dawn, unfurled the jib and hove to get some breakfast & put on some sunscreen. The lighthouse at Hole in the Wall, the southernmost point of Great Abaco, was just barely visible to the W. Heaving to meant sailing at about 1 knot upwind. It was much easier to see how the wind had freshened and the waves had grown now that I was heading into them. Tacked out of the heave-to and headed S to cross the shipping lane of the Northeast Providence Channel. The wind continued to freshen and slowly creep into the NE. Swells continued to grow. Atea had no issues handling the conditions. I was not worried, but I was trying to stay relaxed and avoid cramps and contortions while hand steering. I wished the boat were big enough for a wind vane. I saw two container ships in the NE Providence Channel, one smaller Bahamian, & one larger international one, about 3 nm off. At 0930, hove to again to change hats from my CDSOA toboggan (an important membership benefit! Has kept my ears warm on many occasions!) to a sun hat. Lost a glove, blown overboard. It sat there for a minute, just 6 inches off the port quarter, tantalizing me to reach over, grab it, and fall forever into 4000 meters of water. I let the glove go, but it cost me. It’s just not in my nature consider the risks before acting. Maybe I’m learning something after all these years on the planet. Tacked out of the heave-to and waved goodbye to the glove in its watery grave. Requiem in Pace. Altered course a little further to E to get to Egg Island waypoint at 25 30 N, 76 54.5 W. Waves were now large—7-8 feet—and getting steeper. The foam is behind the crest, not at the very top and a little forward of the wave. This is reassuring. When a 7 foot wave is rising behind Atea’s transom, which is only 2.5 feet above the waterline, it always looks as if I’m about to be swamped. But she rises gracefully, slows appreciably as she rides down the back of the wave. As the next wave comes along, she rides merrily down the steep front side of the wave, as if to say ‘theoretical hull speed 5.3? Pish let me show you 7.7!’ As the wind clocked further to NE, I started to wish I had reefed so I could set the jib, but in these conditions I was not going forward to reef. I’ll let the main luff if I have to. Land Ho at 1000. Worried about Egg Island Reef with the large swells. Passed a monohull headed N, maybe about 40 footer. She was heeled way over, but she had all her canvas set. I was glad I was not headed her way. The boat looked very well equipped and like she’s sailed many miles, so I guess they know what they’re doing. Kept sailing just a bit E of S for 1.5 hours to reach Egg Island. Conditions calmed just a bit under the lee of Royal & Egg Islands & their reef. Wind was now around 15 knots from NE. Made it to Egg Island cut, 46 nm from Cherokee Sound, at 1130, thus averaging 4.2 knots over 11 hours. I had hoped the N wind would continue so I could sail to Royal Island, but as I turned the corner into the bay between Royal Island & Eleuthra (Royal Island Sound? it’s not named on my charts) I was greeted with 17-18 knots right on the nose. Short, steep waves made the conditions feel too lively to drop the main, so I decided to motor sail & tack across the sound. Probably should have anchored to douse the main. In any case, I fired up the diesel and motorsailed across the sound, tacking twice to get to the entrance to Royal Island Harbor, then just gritted my teeth & let the main flap furiously as I motored straight upwind into the harbor entrance. Anchored at 1330, dropped main, tidied the boat up. I didn’t like the spot, it was too close to others given that the forecast was for up to 25 knots tomorrow. I am grateful to the forum for the anchoring techniques I have read about here. I picked my spot, let the wind give a preliminary set to the anchor, then backed down hard to make sure it was really set. It worked; here I am after a night of 20-25 knots gusty winds. I’m glad I didn’t wake up in the middle of Exuma Sound or crashed on a reef somewhere. 52 nm.
Royal Island was formerly known as Real Island, for the Spanish reales lost there by pirates. It’s a perfect harbor for pirates, well-protected and just adjacent to the NE Providence Channel, which the Galleons used to bring the ill-gotten gains of their Empire to Spain. I think the pirates’ curse still lingers; multiple attempts to develop the island as a tourist destination have gone bankrupt. So much the better for me, I get a calm, protected harbor with only a few fellow cruisers for company. I hope the pirate ghosts don’t come for me, though.

4 March 2025. Winds 25 knots from the E. Noone is going anywhere today.

5 March 2025. Wind has clocked around to S. Still strong, maybe 15-18 knots. Motored to Spanish Wells for supplies. Got oil changed at 350 hours. A bolt has worked its way out of the front of the engine and disappeared into the bilge. Multiple trips to the hardware store to get the right bolt. Eventually just got one of each. Wind completely died by afternoon. Found protected spot to anchor in E end of harbor. Completely surrounded by mangroves and sand bars that are dry at low tide. The hole is 10 feet deep, but probably only 100 feet wide—not a whole lot of swinging room! Supposed to blow 25 knots tomorrow, but it’s the best option of the few available. Turtles and bugs seem to love this anchorage. Put up screens and killed lots of mosquitoes.

6 March 2025. Wind howling from NW, 22-25 knots. Later heard there were microbursts or tornadoes in Rock Sound in this storm. Kayaked to town & took ferry to mainland Eleuthera. Hiked to Preacher’s Cave. In 1648, the Eleutherian Adventurers received a royal patent to settle the Bahamas. One of their two ships wrecked on the Devil’s Backbone reef, just N of Eleuthera, forming the southern side of the NE Providence Channel. The Adventurers landed on the beach, found the cave, and settled there a while. The cave is really cool looking, also looks fairly comfortable for living, as caves go—a nice sandy floor and a few chimneys open to the sky to allow light in and smoke out. Apparently the Lucayans liked the cave as well, they had lived there before. I went out to the beach—it must have been a very similar day to when the Adventurers wrecked; it was easy to see the ocean swells breaking on the reef just offshore. After the cave, I hiked about a mile to the Sapphire Blue Hole, a cenote about 100 feet across and 30 feet deep. Although it is about half a mile inland, it is very salty. Jumped in. Climbing out was an adventure, not for the faint of heart. Walked back to the ferry, about 3 miles, through mango and sapodilla farms. Unfortunately not mango season around here. All the mango trees were flowering. Apparently the locals do a lot of slash & burn cultivation still, with sheep & goats to help keep the vegetation down around the trees, and some vegetable farming under the trees.

7 March 2025. Once again proving that the cruising life consists of boat maintenance in exotic places. Weather is now very calm, so I decided to sail to the Glass Window and visit Harbor Island from there, rather than on the fast ferry from Spanish Wells. This should give me more time to explore Harbor Island. During morning engine check, bleeding screws seemed loose. She started, but died after only 5 minutes warming up. Tried to bleed engine, and the cap of the bleeding screw on the front of the engine came off in my hand, with the barrel stuck in the housing. The mechanic who changed the oil must have used too much force. Went back to the mechanic’s shop (they never answer the phone), and they couldn’t get to it till Monday. Stopped at the hardware store and got a bunch of screws in various sizes. Back to the boat. After stewing on it a bit, I saw the bleeding screw is housed in a nut attached to the engine. Took the nut off; put a screw in on top of the old half a screw, and pushed the old one out. Put everything back together and she runs. Yippee! Makes me feel better to start to be able to fix things on my own. Left Spanish Wells under power around 0945. Max 1500 RPM just in case things fell apart, but it ran well for the half hour it took to raise anchor, putter through harbor, & get out far enough to raise the mainsail. Very very light N wind. Sailed at 1 knot W toward Meeks Patch, a line of cays running N-S. Once I headed S toward the Current Cut, wind died almost completely, slowed to .7 knot. Eventually wind worked its way around to SW, remaining very light so that I made around 1.5 knots all afternoon. Finally anchored at 1600 at the Current Settlement, on the N side of the island. Anchorage very rolly from the last few days of wind, but passable. 8 nm.

8 March 2025. Motored off anchor at 0830; will make it through Current Cut before raising sails. Current Cut is the local version of Woods Hole—a narrow cut between mainland & island, with currents approaching 5 knots. As a precaution, I set everything to deploy sails immediately should engine fail. Some pauses & hesitations as I worked the engine up to 2400 rpm. 2400 rpm pushed the boat along at 5.5 knots. Of course, with my amazing knack for arriving at just the wrong tide, I had picked the strongest ebb of the day. The boat slowed from 5.5 to 1.7 knots, so the current was 3.8 knots and looked stronger. That’s about all the current Atea can handle. Two advantages the Current Cut has over Woods Hole are that it is straight, and it is not full of boulders, so the current doesn’t set you toward dangerous obstacles. Still it was lively enough for me at 0900. Once through to the Bight of Eleuthera, there is a narrow deep channel, but there are very wide shallows all around, so the current is much less. A mom dolphin and her two young ones came by to test the bow wave, but as per usual, they were underimpressed and left almost immediately. Once through the channel and into deeper water, at 0940 I raised the main, unfurled the jib, and started sailing just a hair N of E to head toward the Glass Window, 8 nm distant. Set autopilot and enjoyed an easy broad reach with 8 knots from the SSW. Arrived at Glass Window at noon. The Glass Window was a limestone arch, a natural bridge between the two parts of Eleuthera. It collapsed in a storm in the 1940s; now there is a concrete bridge. It is still spectacular, but it must have been amazing when you could see straight through from the bight of Eleuthera to the ocean. When the natural bridge collapsed, its remains filled in the bottom of the passage. I tried to anchor nearby to go see it up close, but the waves were around 2 feet, it was a lee shore, and the anchor kept dragging as there was very little sand over hard limestone. Decided to sail to Hatchet Bay, 8 miles SE, because conditions were good and strong winds from NW are predicted for Monday & Tuesday. Hatchet Bay Harbor has all around protection. Headed SSE along the shore. Here it is ironshore with 30-50 foot cliffs. It makes for slow, uncomfortable sailing if you are too close in, because the waves rebound off the ironshore, making a constant cross rip. Atea would make 4.5 knots in short calm sections, then slow to under 3 in the choppy parts. Arrived outside Hatchet Bay Harbor at 1450. Fired up the engine, doused the sails, then motored in through the ridiculously narrow cut through high rock walls into the protected harbor. From outside, you cannot see the cut until you have nearly passed it. Someone later told me that the passage is 90 feet wide, and the inter-island ferry that lands there is 60 feet wide. Anchored in 10 feet of water. Most of the harbor is 20 feet deep, with thick eelgrass. Anchor dragged in the first spot I chose, had to find a patch of sand. Once anchored, greeted by a turtle. There are lots of jellyfish, so the turtles probably like this place. Soon afterward, a little manta ray got very enthusiastic—he jumped all the way up into the air, and landed with a loud bellyflop. I took care in setting the anchor as I know some wind is coming. A nice young man from Maine who had been spearfishing popped his head out of the water right near my boat and told me the anchor was well set, completely under the mud and sand. There are 16 boats in here already, everyone hunkering down for the blow. Once settled, I discovered that something in engine is spewing fuel all over the starboard side of the engine compartment. I suspect the other bleeding screw was also broken by the mechanic who changed the oil. 25 nm.

[FarrellTed]

9 March 2025. Worked on engine. Found that by using a longer bleeding screw, I can reduce the leaking to almost nil. Laundry in the afternoon. Saw a parade of Masons in full uniform, with drums and a tuba.

10 March 2025. Starting to get very breezy from W. 5 mile hike to buy silicone sealant for the bleeding screw, and to the ocean side of the island. When I returned, Hatchet Bay's most famous (only) singer-songwriter, Edwin, was playing on the dock. Loved his songs. Got back to the boat; gonna blow hard tonight.

11 March 2025. At 0400, a neighboring boat dragged anchor in 24-26 knots from the NW. Chaotic scene as they tried to get boat under control. Even under power the wind kept taking the bow off in other directions than they wanted. Finally they got reanchored. My anchor is very secure, but I am worried that if the wind clocks NE I may be too close to the ironshore. I have 90 feet of scope and 8 feet of chain in 8-10 feet of water. It blew hard all day long; I could not get off the boat. Applied the silicone to the leaking bleeding screw and that seemed to help. Wind finally down to about 14 knots by bedtime.

12 March 2025. Beautiful day with light & variable winds from NE. Hatchet Bay flat calm, which was very welcome. Got ice & water, then motored out of the ridiculously narrow cut. Motored a couple miles offshore to avoid the cross swells inshore, resulting from NW swell rebounding from the shore. Set sails around 0930. Engine performed nicely. Shone a light on the bleeder screw while cruising at 2000 RPM, and no leaking. Ran engine for about 45 minutes to charge up the batteries. Sailed at 110 degrees toward Alabaster Bay. At first wind was fairly steady, if light, so I made 2.5-4 knots. Around 1120 I started getting alternating strong puffs from NE, getting boat speed up to 3 knots, and then short weak puffs from S, which made the boat heave to briefly before the NE breeze took over again. Strange conditions. After a while, winds picked up from the E. Hauled sails in and picked up speed to 3.5 to 4 knots. Sails have been shading the cockpit all morning, super nice to be able to sail without a hat. After a few minutes, wind died and we slowed to 2 knots. Then it picked up and we got up to almost 5 knots. Variable conditions to say the least. Things kept up like this until 1330 when I anchored in 6 feet of water just off the beach in the SE end of Alabaster Bay. 10 nm.

13 March 2025. Hauled up main, raised anchor, and set sail from Alabaster Bay at 1130. Wind very light from SSE. Headed offshore about 2 miles WSW at about 2 knots. Tacked; unable to make better than about 90 E degrees on the way in. Made less than a mile toward my destination. Wind acted as if it would pick up, so I sailed out again. Tacked again. Now we were getting 1-1.5 foot waves from the S, I don't know how because there is almost no wind. For consolation, at 1400 a family of dolphins came by--a mom and her baby played in the bow wave (we were making 2 knots at the time); a couple other adults hung around nearby. They didn't stay long. At 1430, I'd had enough, I had only made 2 miles good in 3 hours of sailing. Started motorsailing. Engine remains a little hesitant at times and is hard to start, but once going she ran pretty smoothly for about an hour at 2400 RPM, getting us to Governor's Harbour around 1530. Engine is no longer leaking any fuel. Anchored in 7 feet of water at low tide just off the beach between Cupid's Cay and the main part of town. 10 nm.

[Jim Walsh]

Thank you for the detailed passage notes. This could be a great resource for fellow cruisers. Best of luck with the remainder of your adventures.

[jbenagh]

Thanks for sharing this great story! I'm really enjoying it.
Jeff

[keneasley]

I enjoyed reading about your adventures.
Reminded me of my travels to Bahamas in the early 80's when conch and grouper were plentiful and on most menus.
Nice to hear about the baby conch.

[FarrellTed]

Thanks, guys! Now posting new installment.

[FarrellTed]

14 March 2025. Spent the day in Governour's Harbor.

15 March 2025. Not my best day as a sailor. Things started fine. Left Governor’s Harbour under sail around 0845. Nice SE breeze, around 8-10 knots. 2 tacks got me just a bit S of the Pineapple Cays. I saw an abandoned marina on the chart and decided to explore, called Runaway Bay. Off the entrance, I furled jib, took down main, and turned on motor. As in many areas in the Bahamas, the marina entrance is a narrow channel marked by two pilings. Go between the pilings. Despite my experience, despite knowing what a coral bar looks like, and despite what my depth sounder was telling me, I had an absolute brain fart and decided the wider space was the channel. Got stuck there, banging the hull on the hard coral, until the tide lifted her off and I could escape. Luckily it was a super calm day, this could have been the end of the voyage for Atea. Luckily, there was no serious damage, just paint. But it didn’t make me feel like the smartest of fellows. Once off the reef, motored over to Ten Bay, my original destination, and anchored off a beautiful beach. Should have stuck to the original plan! 13 nm.

16 March 2025. Ten Bay is beautiful, I would have liked to stay another day, but a front will pass through tomorrow, brining 20-24 knots from the NW. Have to make Rock Sound Harbour for protection. Very brisk ESE wind, 12-15 knots. Sailing in the lee of Eleuthera on a heading of about 200 degrees, just a hair W of S. Making a steady 5 to 5.5 knots with reefed main and jib reefed to the tell-tales. Eventually started seeing a strange wave pattern. One set of waves came from behind on my port quarter; one set came from the direction of the wind, off my port bow; and a third set came from dead ahead. Each set of waves was 1-1.5 feet; the overall pattern could accurately be called confused seas. There must be strong currents in this area, and perhaps the remnants of a swell from the ocean. The pattern disappeared as I approached Rock Sound. I made it 15 miles by 1145, into Rock Sound. Rock Sound is aptly named, there are large coral heads scattered throughout the wide bay between Rock Sound Harbour and Point Eleuthera. I had to beat into the wind, tacking my way into the harbor against the 12-14 knot breeze from the SE. I headed into the harbor on a 180 degree heading; once I got frightened enough of the shallow coral boulders, I tacked back on about 90 degrees toward Sound Point. Then, when I got frightened enough of the sandbars, I tacked back to 180. And so on. After a few tacks, I cleared Sound Point and had a nice broad reach into town. Anchored off the Anglican church at 1400. Visited Ocean Hole, a blue hole right in the center of the small community which, despite being about 400 yards from the harbor, with no visible connection, is full of ocean fish like snapper, sargeant majors, and grunts. I fed them peanuts and cashews; they seemed to prefer the peanuts so I ate the cashews myself. 26 nm

17 March 2025. Moved to N end of Rock Harbor due to expected 24-26 knot winds from NW & N starting around 1700. There were strong 18-20 knot winds from S & SW all day, which made the anchorage uncomfortable until the front came. Ominous clouds appeared in the NW. The wind died. It rained so hard that the rain flattened the chop in about two minutes. The front passed through in 20 minutes and left us with a rainbow and eerie calm. I was grateful for how much salt was washed off the boat. It stayed calm all evening. 2 nm

18 March 2025. Winds started howling from NW at around 0200. 24-26 knots all day long. Luckily I was only 150 yards from shore, so there were no real waves, just short chop. Spent the day reading and, taking advantage of yesterday’s wash, polishing the pulpits and stanchions.

19 March 2025. Up around 0730 with the sun. Hauled up mainsail, hauled up anchor,, on a run for the first two miles out of Rock Sound Harbour doing 3-4 knots on just the reefed main. Set out the jib wing & wing for a bit, but it got me off course and didn’t add more than half a knot of speed, so I furled the jib. Turned NNW at Sound Point and discovered how protected my spot yesterday had been—very. Still blowing at least 12 knots from due N. Beat out of the bay for several miles to get to Davis Channel toward Eleuthera Point. I could have taken Poison Channel, but it is shallower, narrower, and has that ominous name. Davis Straights is the name of a street in my home town, so Davis Channel feels more familiar. I finally beat my way up to Kemp’s Point waypoint, the entrance to Davis Channel, around 1030. I was able to head downwind some, as the heading is now WNW. Davis Channel is perhaps 4 miles long, headed out of the Bight of Eleuthera into Exuma Sound. Much of the tidal surge for the entire 130 mile length of Eleuthera comes into the Bight from here; the water is very shallow (while Exuma Sound is 2000 meters deep), so there are great sand bores running from W to E, with narrow channels between where most of the water flows in and out. Currents are strong. I felt like we had 5-6 knots of boat speed through the water with the fresh breeze on our beam, but we were only making about 4 knots with the current against. Cleared Cape Eleuthera at 1200. Here we met the great ocean swells again as we entered Exuma Sound; depths quickly dropped from 25 feet to 400 meters. The water turned from turquoise to indigo. Turned SE along the coast for Davis Harbor Marina, a tiny little place about halfway along the whale’s tail of south Eleuthera. Even with GPS it was hard to find the entrance. Tied up at around 1500. Noticed the engine starts much better with a full tank. Used 4.3 gallons of fuel from 28 February to 19 March; motored around 50 miles. Mileage would be much better except for the leaked fuel when the bleeder screw failed.

20 March 2025. Up with the sun at 0730. Shook out the reef, and headed out the dredged/blasted channel. Scary when the channel ended, because you could see the bank where the channel is clearly 3-4 feet deeper than the surrounding area. I thought we had gone sideways out of the channel and were about to run aground, but the depth sounder reassured me we had 10 feet of water. The water was so clear I could see individual fan corals waving on the sandy bottom. Headed S about a mile until water was 400m deep. There was no wind, so I motored along the coast. Following seas meant hand steering. Passed a Carnival Cruise Line ship at around 1000 at Bannerman Town at the south point of Eleuthera. From there I picked up the outline of another Carnival ship at Little San Salvador, 12 miles distant. The point had incredible breakers—I steered well clear. Once past the point, got into the biggest ocean swells of the voyage so far, probably 10 feet. Majestic hills of water moving smoothly and very fast, with no crests. Impossible to describe what it is like to climb up these mountains or to be in the valleys of water in between. Made it to Little San Salvador around 1230. Once in the lee of the island, we made better speed, around hull speed (5.4 knots). I tried various times to start sailing, but the wind was so light I could only make about 2 knots, putting us at Bennet’s Harbour on Cat Island well after dark. Waters to W of Cat Island are very shallow—only 25 feet or so—and much less protected than the Bight of Eleuthera. Arrived at Bennett’s Harbor around 1600. Seemed to small to anchor; as it turns out I should have tried. Tried to enter Pigeon Creek around 1700. Tide too low. Had to motor all the way around Alligator Point & anchor at Pigeon Cay Beach Club. Little to no protection from the westerly breeze, which had picked up to 8 knots or so. Confused seas. Terrible night’s sleep. 46 nm, all under power.

21 March 2025. Up at 0630, under way by 0730. Used engine to help raise anchor, then put it in idle to charge batteries. The miserable sleeping conditions were actually beautiful sailing conditions, a nice beam reach with 10-12 knots from the W on my beam as I sailed S along the Cat Island coast. Unfortunately I was a zombie from too little sleep and conditions too rough to make coffee. Cat Island is much higher than the other Bahamian islands, except for the SE coast of Great Abaco. Hills are around 200 feet high pretty much through the whole island. Rounded Bonefish Point around 1120 am; made 19 nm in under 4 hours. Wandered around New Bight environs for a while looking for a calm spot to anchor, but there were none; settled for a shallow cove in the lee of the sandbars off Bonefish Point, near the Fountain Bay resort. After a nap, sailed over to New Bight settlement, as the wind had switched into the E. 23 nm, all under sail. Very lively music from a nightclub on the beach until late in the evening.

22 March 2025. Got some sketchy water from cistern at an abandoned house. In the afternoon, hiked up Mt. Alvernia, elevation 206 feet, the highest hill in the Bahamas. Here Father Jerome, an architect who built many Anglican and Catholic churches in the Bahamas, spent the end of his career building the Hermitage. In 1939 he retired to Cat Island and started building a stone chapel, bell tower, and living quarters, including a stone oven to bake his own communion wafers. On the path up the hill he carved the Stations of the Cross. He lived there until he died in 1956. He was even more of a misanthrope than me, apparently. After lunch, sailed a mile N to get closer to the food store. Bought food, drinking water, & rum. Mr. Perry Williams of Cat Island very kindly gave me a ride back to the abandoned resort where I had left my kayak. Kayaking with two bags of groceries and a gallon of water requires a little dexterity and a lot of faith, but I got the vegetables aboard without mishap. Then sailed about 2 nm S, sailing well past the village to avoid the boisterous music. 3 nm.

23 March 2025. Very little wind, so up late. Hoisted main and sailed off anchor around 1030. Very little wind, random puffs from S & E. Speed varied from .5 to 3 knots. Put tiller pilot on and read a book for a few hours until 1330, by which time I had made around 6 nm in 3 hours. Gave up and turned on the motor; motored to Hawk’s Nest Marina to get ice, water, and a nice dinner before crossing an ocean tomorrow. I would like to go to Conception Island, a Bahamas National Park, but it looks like the wind will not cooperate. I need to be in Georgetown by Wednesday afternoon for the next big blow, which will feature gusts up to 29 knots and will last 3-4 days. Also I need to replace my topping lift, which is frayed. The north end of Long Island is closer, but it does not appear to have any good anchorages or yacht services, so I’m headed off to George Town, Great Exuma. 12 nm, 6 under power.

24 March 2025. Up early; motored out of marina at 0730. Put a reef in the main as I motored SSW because we had four foot swells and 14 knots from ESE. Started sailing by 0800. 38 nm to Conch Cay Cut, Great Exuma. Saw a freighter as soon as I got out of the harbor; he generously altered course to give me a very wide berth. Course is 202 true, but I sailed until 1130 at about 190 in case the NW current marked on the chart was running. Lost sight of Cat Island at 1130. Hand steered for an hour from 1030 to 1130 to give the autopilot a break. At 1200, it was apparent I was a little SE of the rhumb line, so headed downwind a bit. Making 4.5-5 knots all morning. Wind started lessen around 1200. A trawler that had been at Hawk’s Nest passed me, headed in the same direction; she looked uncomfortable in the swells and wasn’t going too much faster than I was. I saw 3 other sailboats, all headed NE to Cat Island or Eleuthera. Caught sight of Great Exuma around 1415, though I cheated a bit by standing on the cabin top—we were still 8-10 miles from shore. At 1500, shook out the reef, as the wind had lessened; increased boat speed by about a knot. At 1700, made Conch Cay Cut, 39 nm in 9 hours. Wind picked up dramatically as I sailed into Elizabeth Harbour. Pinched and tacked my way into Goat Cay Cove, dropped hook in 7 feet of water at 1800 sharp. 43 nm, all but 2 under sail.

25 March 2025. Sailed from Goat Cay Cove to Kidd’s Cove right off George Town and Lake Victoria. Got rope for a new topping lift and some water, ice, & groceries. Managed to time it so I had to kayak against a strong current both entering and exiting Lake Victoria. Fixed topping lift by sewing the new line to the old one, then pulling the new line through the block at the mast head and back down to the end of the boom. Glad to have that done; the fraying line had me worried about the boom crashing down on my head. Kidd’s Cove was bumpy in the brisk E breeze, so I moved over to Stocking Island. I saw 2 large eagle rays as I picked up a mooring near the Chat n’ Chill. I was underimpressed with Chat n’Chill; the beach is beautiful, but the place was kind of ratty and the music aggressive & violent. Sailed further N and anchored. 6 nm.

26 March 2025. Thunderstorms from 0200 to 0500 as the front moved through. Didn’t get a lot of sleep, even though the anchorage is well-protected. Got started around 0900; decided to spend the blow at Emerald Bay Marina. Sailed out of Stocking Harbour’s north entrance, then 12 nm further north with a pleasant 8-10 knot SE breeze. Large swells from the SE from last night's storm. Staying at Emerald Bay will make it easier for my sister and her crew to access the boat. I’m still unsure if we will be able to sail to Staniel Cay on Sunday. The wind will be SE, which is favorable, but still strong at 18 knots. Not sure I want 5 people aboard while trying to make 55 miles in a day. Also, the marina entrance does not have great protection from a large swell, so getting out to sea may be the most difficult part of the trip. We’ll see what conditions are like on Sunday. In the meantime, the marina is super nice, with floating docks and wifi. 15 nm.