No Turning Back Now: Thompson Bay to Matthew Town

Thompson Bay to Matthew Town – 192.2 NM / 1 day 14 hrs (38 hours)

This passage was the real deal.

What we’d only read about in books was now our reality. No place to stop for help. No marina around the corner. No easy bailout if something went wrong. We had Starlink for communication, but that doesn’t change the fact that we were hundreds of miles from any safe harbor, just us, the ocean, and a whole lot of time to think.

We pulled anchor at 4:30 AM, just before first light. Our friends on Sailing Tova were doing the same. The goal? Make it to the Comer Channel, a narrow, shallow cut that has to be timed perfectly with the ebb tide. At low tide, some spots show only 6 feet of depth. Our boat draws 5.5 feet. You do the math.

We hit the start of the channel at exactly the right moment, still dark, more like dusk before dawn. It was tense. Rodney was glued to the chartplotter, watching every blip in depth while I kept an eye on our course. Two white-knuckle hours later, we made it out the other side.

And here’s where our trip took a turn, literally.

This was the first part of the sail that was a bit unusual compared to what most cruisers do when heading to the DR. The “typical” route is to wait for a northerly to calm the tradewinds, then head down the east side of Long Island, past the Crooked Islands and the Inagua Islands, maybe even stopping in Turks and Caicos. We did none of that.

Following the route Chris Parker and team mapped out for us, we went the complete opposite direction, down the western side of the islands, skirting Crooked Islands and staying well offshore. It felt a little counterintuitive, but we’d committed to trusting the process.

From there, it was all open water, just us, the wind, the current, and a long stretch of sea between us and the southern tip of Acklins Island.

Open Water and Open Eyes
After 118 nautical miles away and 23.5 hours into the wind, exhaustion started creeping in. At 4 AM, dark thirty, Rodney finished his night shift, and I stumbled up for mine. We still had 15 hours to go.

Rodney handed off the helm and disappeared below for some much-needed rest. I settled in for sunrise watch. Just me, the horizon, and the open sea. I silently gave thanks for Starlink, not to scroll social media (though we did a little of that), but for peace of mind. Knowing we could reach someone, anyone, if we had to was worth every penny.

Engine Trouble
Hours from Matthew Town, the engine sputtered and died. Would. Not. Restart. That sinking feeling hit instantly. But we weren’t in immediate danger, just rattled. Rodney dove into the engine compartment while I pulled up every fuel-system troubleshooting tip I could find. We narrowed it down to the fuel filters.

Not ideal to work on an engine while the boat’s rocking, so we turned her around, put the autopilot on, and steadied the motion. I gave Rodney a two-hour deadline before we’d have to turn back toward the Bahamas as that was the way the winds would carry us with no motor. Challenge accepted.

He rallied, replaced the filters, got the engine roaring back to life, and we turned toward Matthew Town again. Sailing Tova was already anchored and waiting, radioing in with a spot for us. Good thing, we came in hot with only a sliver of daylight left.

The wind gave us one last gift, pushing us into Man O’ War Bay just in time. We dropped the hook with the light of our trusty flashlight. I was nervous as I could see coral heads all around us but I just had to trust it would be ok.

Morning Surprise
The next morning, coffee in hand, I walked to the front of the boat to check our anchor and I noticed something off, our anchor chain had wrapped around a coral head. Of course. We started the engine for control, I worked the windlass, and Rodney used the bow thruster to guide us free. Wow dodging bullets seemed to be our MO the last 24 hours, and I was ready for that to be over.

Next stop: the government dock in Matthew Town, just 12 NM away. Two hours later, we tied up, paid $17 to dock for the day, and set out for the sketchiest fuel run of our lives.

Diesel, Salon Style
Cruisers had recommended a local guy. First fuel stop? Closed, the guy was at his other job at the Morton Salt factory. Second stop? A hair salon/restaurant/bar. We were told to go around back, where we found a white van with flat tires and blacked-out windows, straight out of a crime documentary.

Two women in curlers came out, popped the doors, and started pumping diesel. Sketchy? Absolutely. Did we take it? Absolutely.

Back at the dock, we swapped all the fuel filters again just in case the diesel came with surprises. We tried to rest, but the tide slammed us against the dock like a washing machine.

By 9:30 PM, we cast off lines, tired, fueled up, and ready for the 30-hour crossing that would take us to the Dominican Republic at sunrise.

We were done with the Bahamas. Next stop: new country, new waters.

Have you ever taken a route that went completely against the “normal” advice? Or had a fuel stop you’ll never forget? Share your story in the comments below. And stick around, in our next post, we make landfall in the Dominican Republic after our longest and most challenging passage yet.

Fair winds,

Patrice & Rodney