Calabash Bay

Thompson Bay to Calabash Bay – 23 nautical miles sailed, 3 miles in dinghy, 200 metres snorkelled, 1 squirrel fish

With a 12 knot east wind we pulled anchor and began our 23 mile sail to Calabash Bay, in the northern end of Long Island. And today, with a perfect wind and flat seas, we traveled by sail power alone. It was the best sail of the entire trip as the protection of the land kept the sea chop to a minimum and the wind blew from 7 to 17 knots right on the beam, giving us an average speed of over 6 knots, and even close to 8 knots on occasion. The waters were the most hypnotic shade of blue we’ve seen and at one point a shark crossed our bow at top speed to get out of the way, and we watched him swim away as we ripped by.

There were 5 or 6 boats already at anchor in the northernmost part of the bay, so we went to the same area, plowing the keel through soft sand once or twice as the 3.5 foot tide was dropping into the low end of the cycle. Across from us on the picture perfect beach was the the Cape Santa Maria Beach Resorts. Once anchored we assembled our snorkelling gear and dinghy’d out to the point to see if we could find coral. And coral, we found.

We dropped into a fish aquarium with so many shapes, sizes, and species of fish, it was almost overwhelming. Coral grew throughout the area and the bottom undulated in waves with banks of rock and sandy flats. One column of coral shot straight up like a condo building, breaking the surface slightly, as fish crowded around it, munching. While the girls swam around, in amazement with the quantity of fish, I prowled with my spears, looking for a lobster. It took some time, but finally I found one – two thick antennae poking out from beneath a deep rock ledge. I tried coaxing him out using my spear as a tickler stick, but he wouldn’t budge, then finally he tired of my pestering and disappeared far beneath the ledge, completely out of view. Maybe tomorrow. I did manage to shoot one squirrel fish, and I came so close to getting a big Nassau grouper, but he took off like a rocket just as I had loaded my spear and was about to release it. Again, maybe tomorrow.

We explored another two areas of coral, but one was mainly rock and the other was quite far out in the bay and the water was extremely choppy, so instead we did a dinghy tour of the immaculate shoreline. In addition to the resort, there were a number of private homes, and people walking the beach. We thought of beaching the dinghy for a walk, but the strong wind was a little chilly so we returned to the boat, had a nice sundowner, played some ukulele, listened to music, had chicken, plantains, and coleslaw for dinner, then converted our main salon into a movie theatre and watched The Big Blue, inspired by yesterday’s blue hole experience.

A Long Island Adventure and the Furthest Point South of Our Journey

Thompson Bay, Long Island – 160 kilometres driven, 2 miles in dinghy, 4 kilometres walked

I called Mr. Fox from Sunset Car Rental at 7:30 am and sure enough he had wheels for us we could pick up at 9 am. By 9:05 I was done the paperwork (name, address, driver’s license number, that’s it), we’d paid $75 in cash, and we pulled away in our Nissan Note right hand drive car, ready to explore Long Island. The ease of this island rental experience brought back a painful memory of suffering at the Easirent desk in Fort Lauderdale getting rolled over and ripped off by the staff there. But I shuffled that back into the archives and focused on the present, the lovely present.

We drove south, dodging the odd pothole (some, potentially devastating) and chickens and goats crossing the road, and one dog sleeping soundly in the middle of it, and rapidly normalized driving on the left, which was a real novelty for Stella, and for us too as it had been a while. The mostly straight road was bordered by trees and shrubs, and we noticed many houses that had banana trees and gardens growing in their yards. It felt lush compared to the other places we’d visited in Bahamas thus far. Buildings appeared sporadically, almost as if divided equally along the full stretch of the island, with only a few small clusters of houses in the settlements we passed through. By the end of the week with our rental car in Florida, I hated it - the traffic lights, the waiting, the density, aggravated drivers, the tollways. Today’s rental was a single day ride, a way to see as much of Long Island as possible, with just one road, no stop signs or lights, and only a few other cars. It was fun.

A sign appeared for Shrimp Hole so I cranked the wheel over and parked on the shoulder then walked in. There, we found the remains of an abandoned church, and another sign with “Shrimp Hole – Follow the Red Arrows”, which we did, like Alice in Wonderland, and were led through a winding forest path, into the bush, until we reached a cave, which initially looked much like the bat cave entrance from yesterday. I climbed over the rock and found a cavern with a large pool of water, swimmable and fairly deep, but full of jagged harsh rock that could easily slice up a big toe or shoulder. We were not wearing our swimsuits, so did not get in the water, but I had to assume the resident creatures were shrimp, although they remained hidden. I could see light at the end of the pool so I walked through the bush, passing by a huge spiny green cactus, and found a skylight entrance to the cave, which dropped nine or ten feet into the water below. Maybe we’d stop on the way back for a swim if we had time.

Our drive continued, passing random food shacks, restaurants, and liquor stores, plus the occasional government building, school, and commercial building. We arrived at the junction for Dean’s Blue Hole, well-marked with a sign on the highway. We drove across the pitted and rock-strewn dirt road, testing the worn and sloppy suspension of our little car, producing some terrible noises from the front end, noises which usually result in a lethal maiming of a vehicle. But the car made it and we were rewarded with a most beautiful sight – an ominous blue hole perfectly sheltered by a natural rock harbour and surrounded by shallow, walkable sand banks. There was one vehicle here with lettering on the side “Vertical Blue Free Divers”, and in the middle of the blue hole were two divers with specialty gear. The girls, freshly prepped with makeup, fashion outfits, and curled hair, could not face an early swim, but since I’m never entirely fresh nor made up, I grabbed my mask and went for a dip. All I told the girls was, “It’s amazing, you can’t miss this. We’ll stop for a swim on our way back.” As we returned to the car, the owner of the truck appeared in a wet suit and I had to ask him a few question. What we learned was this blue hole was over 600 feet deep, the third-deepest in the world, that free divers could hold their breath for 3 – 4 minutes and make it halfway down, and that it was the best blue hole in the world for free diving and home to a yearly international free diving competition.

We continued into the beating heart of Long Island, the capital Clarence Town, and home to the government dock, fewer than a hundred residents, a couple of fancy churches, and not a whole lot else. But because of a detour due to road work on the highway, we were sent down a side road and ended up at the harbour and found an incredibly new and fancy looking marina called the Flying Fish, which we had to explore. The main marina building was painted a beautiful Caribbean yellow hue with white-trimmed doors and windows. In the courtyard was a small kidney-shaped pool with views east across the coral-strewn harbour to the crashing Atlantic and west to the long jetty protecting the marina docks with several docked sportfisher boats. We walked the jetty, and Ana immediately spotted a big shark prowling the shallows. Then I saw a huge loggerhead turtle. Then two more big sharks, all following the same path from the coral reefs, along the jetty, then into the harbour. We watched the marine show before us in amazement from the artful and surprisingly comfortable hurricane-proof concrete couches on the jetty.

The marina office was open so we went in, used the facilities, bought myself a new pair of flip flops with exceptional grip, then had a chat with the nice lady working there. She told us the sharks we saw were not reef sharks, but bull sharks, recognized for being the most dangerous sharks in the world. Good thing we didn’t opt for a marina swim.

Our goal was the south end of the island, so we continue driving, passing through many thinly populated settlements – McKenzie, Taits, Roses, Berry’s, Cabbage Point, Mortimer’s, and my personal favourite, Hard Bargain. Salt ponds appeared on both sides of the road, and at one we were shocked to see hundreds of pink flamingos, in the shallows, picking away at shrimp and minnows. Ana snuck up on a singleton, balancing on one leg near the shore, and took a smashing photo.

The road effectively ended at the settlement of Gordon’s, and there we found Gordon’s Beach Bar, built and owned by Ernest Watson. I feel like I should not describe this oasis as I could never capture the beauty of the talcum power white sand beach, the shallow water with infinite hues of blue and waves of sand patterns beneath it, the magnificent pine trees providing shade for the inviting fabric hammock strung between them, the courtesy beach loungers and wide umbrellas, the endless view to the sparkling eastern horizon that would land you in the Ragged Islands or Cuba if you paddled long enough, the restaurant itself, painted shades of blue and pink, with a wraparound bar, easy menu, and cold Kaliks and “spanked” rum punch served by Ernesto, with a smile, accompanied by a story or three, the delicious cracked conch or cracked chicken or cracked lobster or fried grouper chunks served with authentic peas and rice or plantains or cole slaw, cooked in the tiny kitchen by a lovely Bahamian grandma, and finally, the sounds of the sea – birds calling, water gently lapping, the wind whistling through the palms.

I could never hope to describe Gordon’s properly so I will not even try. Instead, I will recognize that we reached the furthest point south we will travel on this epic adventure of ours, 2100 nautical miles from home, and I cannot image a more perfect place to have chosen. Long Island was the first location Ana and I visited together as a new couple, 25 years ago, madly in love, at the start of what we already knew then would become a lifelong adventure and partnership. Being back here felt like a reunion with our younger selves. As Ana and I walked the deserted beach then snuggled together in the warm water while Stella napped on a lounger, we talked about this, about where we started, about what we’d accomplished, and where we were at in our lives, and about the many more places in the world we had yet to explore, and the future adventures we aspired to. As we talked about these things I wondered if I just might be the happiest person in the world at that moment.

We did the turnaround and stopped briefly in Clarence Town to take a photo of the handsome Catholic church before returning to Dean’s blue hole. The girls were overwhelmed as soon as they pushed off the sand and floated across the surface, looking down where the white sand met the black edge of the hole. Stella was so overcome with fear she grabbed onto her mom’s hand. The steep underwater sand banks and rock ledges which housed legions of blue-striped Sergeant Major fish declined quickly to about twenty-five feet of depth then met the circular edge of the blue hole, where the water turned the darkest of blues, and one looked down into nothingness. I swam down to the edge of the hole and peeked over. The sides were rock and I pulled myself down a bit then felt a nervous shiver flash down my spine as I realized it was thirty feet to the surface and, not trained as a free diver, I didn’t have much left for breath. I rocketed up, lifted quickly by the buoyant salt water, broke the surface, and grabbed a deep gulp of air then continued snorkeling.

We circled the hole then swam back to the shallows. The girls removed their masks and said it was the most amazing thing they’d ever experienced.

Once back on the highway, we checked Google maps to see if we had time to make it up to Stella Maris, the resort Ana and I visited 25 years ago, but it was well over an hour away which would put us on the pothole-ridden road at night, something I did not want to do, so instead we returned to Salt Pond and stopped at the Vantage Point seaside restaurant for a sundowner drink and were rewarded with a magnificent sunset, great music, and surprisingly cheap drinks.

We gassed up the car, returned it, then retrieved the dinghy and motored over to our friends Cheyne and Marilyn’s catamaran, whom we had met in Fort Lauderdale. As the sun dipped down into the horizon we had a nice chat, catching up on each other’s movements in the past month, and upcoming route plans. It seemed likely that we’d see each other again soon as they were planning on heading north at approximately the same time as us, as they were embarking on a Great Loop, and would spend the summer in our ‘hood - the Great Lakes.

Back on SeaLight, Ana made us a lovely pasta dinner then we retired to our cabins, putting the wraps on an extraordinary day on Long Island.

Barracuda Catch, Thompson Bay, and the Olson Family History of Pet Carnage

Thompson Bay, Long Island – 38 nautical miles sailed, 2 miles in dinghy, 5 kilometres walked

We slid out of the anchorage at 6:30 am and began our crossing to Long Island, passing the many anchorages of Elizabeth Harbour and the three hundred plus boats currently calling it home.

Our thoughts on Georgetown. Many cruisers head straight to Georgetown in the fall, racing through the ICW as fast as possible to get here. Once they arrive they drop anchor or get a mooring ball and spend the entire winter here, presumably participating in the many cruisers activities, hanging at the Chat ‘N’ Chill, running around in their dinghy, going to town, walking Stocking Island, snorkeling, and daily sundowners. There are plenty of things to do in the area, but after a few days here we were ready to move on. It is a great place to pick up supplies and water, and we had fun, but it was no better or worse than the other locations we visited so far in the Bahamas. Did we like it? Yes. Is it the ultimate winter destination in the Bahamas? It’s one among many.

Our initial plan was to sail to the north end of Long Island to an area called Calabash, but the wind forecast had changed and it looked like stronger north-west winds were coming for a few hours in the afternoon, which was not good for this anchorage, as it is already not optimal, but with winds from the west it would become very uncomfortable, so instead we set a course for Thompson Bay, in the south, near the community of Salt Pond. I was excited to fish, with the depths on our original route plunging, creating the opportunity to catch a dorado or tuna, but on our new route the depths were shallow, which typically means the most likely fish to hook would be a barracuda. But that was fine with me so I put out the hand line and fished. As I watched the lure trailing behind the boat, giving it a hard jerk once in a while to create some wounded fish action, Ana spotted a shark just to our starboard side. It was a big one, probably a reef shark, but it was hard to tell for sure as we weren’t close enough. I considered turning the boat around to have a closer look, but with the jib flying, the fishing line out, and Stella still in bed, we decided to keep going.

My cedar plug lure did absolutely nothing so I switched it up for a flashy orange and red lure and got a hit! I saw a big silvery fish surface and roll as it took a swipe at the bait…but missed. With that shot of adrenaline I focused on entirely on fishing and soon after, with a new silver and blue lure, got another hit and was able to set the hook. I pulled in the line, hand over hand, thinking maybe I had lost it, then pulled a small barracuda up to the boat. He wasn’t any more than five pounds, but we all got to see one of these toothy ocean prowlers up close and I finally had one on the board and some fish stink on the lure. I removed the hook as Stella took a couple of photos then let him go. Reef barracudas are delicious to eat, but not recommended as they are more likely to be infected with ciguatera, so we didn’t want to take any chances on getting sick.

We stopped for a morning bath in the shallows just before entering the harbour. The water was a pleasing 29 degrees and only about 9 feet deep with no fish or sharks or rays as far as we could see across the plain sand bottom.

The anchorage was very big and there were already about 25 boats there, more catamarans than monohulls, plus one superyacht that arrived shortly after us. We locked up the boat, jumped in the dinghy, and motored into the dinghy dock, which already had at least six other cruiser dinghies tied up.

Long Island is a long island, about 80 miles from end to end with what looked to be one main road running through it. With dusty dry brush on either side, and hot sun rays beating down, we started walking and with the help of our Noforeignland app found a skinny trail leading through the bush to a cave. It was a good cave. A big cave, and easy to walk as long as you didn’t fall into any of the exposed holes or cracks, which plunged a dozen feet down to the next level. We had brought along headlamps and walked in far enough to stir up a couple hundred bats, who took flight and swerved and flapped all around us, but never made contact. I could see light at the far end of the cave, so it may have been possible to transit the entire length and pop out somewhere else, but nobody was interested in walking through a cloud of bats and getting guano bombed.

From here we walked north on the highway to the liquor store and grocery, passing a small roadside bar along the way with a few cruisers drinking Kaliks. The liquor store was closed so we went into the grocery to have a look. It was quite amazing as they had an even wider grocery inventory than the shops in Georgetown, plus a large section of housewares and hardware. Ana had struck out for popping corn in Georgetown but found two bags of it here, which brought a huge smile to her face as that’s her favourite snack. The smile grew wider when the girls bought ice cream sandwiches.

We turned around at this point, retraced our steps, then continued southward. The drivers of every vehicle that passed us gave a mighty wave. After walking for a while we found a marine store and were shocked to find it particularly well stocked with not just boat supplies, but also regular hardware. As we browsed, two little bichon shih tzu dogs wandered out from a stockroom and laid down in front of Stella for a belly scratch, which she happily provided. This sparked a later discussion as we continued our walk across the island, past a big salt pond and to a beach on the Atlantic side, covered in plastic refuse, delivered by the sea.

“Those dogs look just like your mom’s,” Ana said.

“I miss Grandma’s dogs,” said Stella.

“Yeah, those were good dogs,” I said. “And they lasted a long time.”

“Oh yeah. You guys didn’t have much luck with pets, did you,” Ana said, mischievously.

“Like when we were kids? I don’t know. Let me think. We had Foxy for a long time, that was our first dog.”

“Didn’t she get hit by a car?”

“Yep. And it popped her eye right out. The vet had to sew a button over the eyehole.”

“OH MY GOD! Gross!” said Stella. “Just like Coraline. I hated that movie.”

“But she was okay after that, at least until she got cancer and developed this bag on her underside she dragged around for a year or two.”

“Right, then you had another dog.”

“Yep, Rex. He was one of Foxy’s puppies.”

“What happened to him?”

“Hit by a car on the highway at Foam Lake. Dead.”

“What other animals?”

“Marty had rabbits. When they got too big we had to donate them to one of the power substations Dad used to work at. They got eaten by coyotes almost immediately.”

“What about the hamsters?”

“Yeah, the hamsters! Sneaky and Elmer. Sneaky escaped from his cage and crawled beneath the kitchen cupboards. Never saw him again.”

“And Elmer?”

“Yeah, that was a real shame. We used to let him walk around outside on the concrete patio while we played basketball. Well one day we forgot about him and left him in the sun when we went to do something else. Came back and he was lying on his back, totally parched, dead. I guess we should have left him some water.”

“What else?”

“Marty had an iguana. One day Mom noticed his room was smelling worse than normal. She asked him if the iguana was okay. He said it’s fine. Then why is it all grey? They change colour sometimes, don’t worry about it. When’s the last time you fed it? Well…can’t remember. Mom poked it with a stick and it fell over, stone dead.”

“Didn’t you guys have fish?”

“Yep, a huge goldfish. We blew it up with a firecracker. That was pretty awesome.”

“Any cats?”

“God no, cats wouldn’t have survived our place. Nobody in our family liked cats.”

“How on earth did your mom’s dogs last so long considering the Olson family’s history of pet carnage?”

“Hmmm,” I pondered as I stroked my invisible goatee. “I guess it was probably Dad. He’s not good with animals. I mean, look at all the moose, elk, geese, deer, and coyotes he’s blown away over the years.”

“I think you and your brothers are derelict.”

“Well, maybe. Anyway, is that a lizard over there?” I said, pointing to nothing in the bushes, tactfully changing the subject.

We met an American couple at the dinghy dock who had just rented a car for the day and had an amazing time, telling us about some of the places they’d visited. So over a sundowner back in SeaLight’s cockpit we decided to try and rent a car the following day. There was much to explore.

Provisioning Day

Georgetown – 6 miles in dinghy, 3 kilometres walked

It was an uneventful day in Georgetown, but by evening we had filled the water tanks, bought groceries, visited the excellent library in town, had coffee and banana bread at the local café, went for a walk around Victoria Lake, and made a delicious salami/basil/onion/green pepper pizza for dinner. The winds had slackened and the weather had improved, but we still had minor episodes of rain throughout the day.

It's been such a pleasure having Stella with us. As our kids reach adulthood we know the time we get to spend with them is likely to become more limited, so we appreciate these moments now more than ever. Since Anna left (she arrived home no problem..except the Arctic temperatures which lashed her with a nasty cold as soon as she touched down), Stella is now just stuck with us so we will have even more hours with her. I hope she can put up with us.

We spoke to Magnus on the phone yesterday from Edinburgh. He is doing so well and just loving the city. He has eight other flatmates, all foreigners from a host of different countries including Greece, Australia, the US, Canada, maybe one more. Each of them has their own private bedroom but they share a common kitchen and living room so end up spending lots of time together. He got his class schedule and discovered he only has classes Monday to Wednesday, giving him regular four day weekends so he’s been eagerly looking up Ryan Air flights to locations across Europe. It’s going to be tough on his budget, but we are excited for him to do some cool trips in Europe…when he’s not busy with essays, exams, and papers that is.

Strategic Planning Meeting, Song Writing, and Why Football Sucks

Georgetown – 3 miles in dinghy

We have been experiencing what is called a “norther”. This is a collision of fronts which results in gale force north-east winds that sends boats scurrying for cover. The temperature does not actually drop much, but the wind and cloud cover makes it feel cool, so cruisers typically close themselves into their boats and disappear from the ocean scene until the norther blows over, which typically happens after two or three days. Tomorrow it is forecast to die out in the afternoon, which would make it the third day. What’s expected to follow is four to five days of settled, beautiful weather, which will be great for our passage to Long Island.

This weather pattern happens over and over again throughout the winter months in Bahamas as the cold fronts travel southward from Canada and the US.

I had a surprisingly productive day today as I decided it was finally time to make bread. We brought two large containers of flour from home with the expectation I’d regularly be baking up loaves, but the reality has been much different. The busy cruising schedule, cool days on the ICW, hours spent motoring on a vibrating boat (tough for dough to rise properly) and ready access to bread from stores (not necessarily good bread…) has meant I just haven’t gotten around to it. So today, after dropping Ana and Stella off at the Snappy Turtle restaurant bar just around the corner (avoiding the windy side of Elizabeth Harbour), I got to work making bread. And since I didn’t have my regular bread recipes with me, I pulled up two on the internet; one for Bahamian Johnny cake and one for regular white loaves. I was happy with the result and Stella just loved the Johnny cake, which is a dense, non-rising bread full of butter and reminiscent of a scone.

I picked up the girls after a couple of hours and Ana finished up her annual Newport strategic  planning meeting on the boat. She had hoped to use the wifi at the Snappy Turtle, but it started flaking out so used her phone data instead and locked herself in the v-berth for a couple of hours. During this time, Stella chose “Harvest Moon” as a song for us to learn and I picked it out on the uke, she memorized the lyrics, and we got it to a pretty good state, but my fingertips felt like mush by the end of it. Stella has always been a fantastic singer; I am terrible, and not that great at uke either, but we managed to put together a decent enough version of it. We’ll practice more tomorrow, and maybe add another song to our repertoire so we can do talent night at the Chat ‘N’ Chill.

Since we already had fresh bread, we decided to go whole hog and make conch fritters and plantains. Stella and I got to work with the conch tenderizing, vegetable chopping, oil boiling, ingredient consolidation, and put together a fine meal for us to enjoy in the comfort of the cabin, protected from the pulverizing weather. Instead of a quiet few hours on the boat to leisurely digest our meals, at 6:30, after a rapid cleanup, we were in the dinghy, in the blackness and waves and light rain, motoring through the awful weather back to the Snappy Turtle so the girls could watch the Buffalo Bills/Kansas City Chiefs football game. The original plan was for them to take the dinghy themselves, but it was just too rough for that so I chauffeured.

I really do not like football. I don’t mind saying it. I get no enjoyment from watching four hours of shitty and stupid commercials, punctuated occasionally by hordes of grown men bashing into each other, patting each other’s bums, doing funny dances, but mostly just standing around doing nothing for hours waiting for their few precious minutes to get out on the field. Look, I know a lot of people love football, and it is nothing less than a religion in the US, but it is not a great sport to watch. I don’t much like any sports, but at least with rugby or soccer or hockey or tennis or basketball or even cricket, there’s something happening most of the time other than commercials. Notice I didn’t mention baseball? That’s even worse to watch than football.

I watched some of the game but got bored quickly. I dug through a library of books Ana pointed me towards, stashed around the corner from the bar, and found an ancient copy of Jimmy Cornell’s “World Cruising Routes” which kept my attention for at least an hour as I read through all the recommended routes and safe months for passages between the Atlantic, Caribbean, and Europe, envisioning future blue water adventures on SeaLight. I went for a walk around the resort. I sat on a rock. I looked up at the sky. I returned to the library and found a Time magazine on the history of Lego, which I read back to back. Fascinating.

Finally, with just a few minutes left in the game and the score nearly tied, the girls inexplicably decided it was time to leave. I don’t know if they were feeling sorry for me or what, but they didn’t have to leave on my account. I wasn’t complaining. I like boredom. It happens so infrequently in our lives these days. Some say mobile devices have conquered boredom, but I think they’ve really just conquered inquisitive thought and idea generation.

We motored our way back through darkness, feeling our way, avoiding reefs, avoiding boats, avoiding the shoreline. Once in the safety of SeaLight’s cabin, Ana found a three minute trial version of an online sports channel so they girls got to see Kansas City score a field goal and pull ahead of the Bills, just before it ran out. I think that probably made a lot of people in Ontario and New York sad, but they will recover. And like the Toronto Maple Leafs are fond of saying, “Next year is THE year!”

Which makes me wonder, why are they called the Maple Leafs and not the Maple Leaves? I better grab my device.

Exploring Stocking Island - Forest Paths, Shelling Beach, Barbie Movie Set

Georgetown – 2 miles in dinghy, walked 4 kilometres

After a morning fry up of eggs, toast, and sausages we took the dinghy a short distance to a dock on Stocking Island. This is the long and narrow island we are current anchored behind, protecting us and Elizabeth Harbour from the prevailing winds from the north-east which, today, are gusting up to 30 knots, so a much better day for walking than boating.

Our trusty Noforeignland app showed a series of trails on the island so we started walking north-west along a beachside path which was shaded by pine trees that had produced a beautiful carpet of soft pine needles on top of the sand creating a luxurious walking surface. The trail cut in and out from the beach, passing through some extremely dry and rugged, rocky terrain, which looked as it if had not seen moisture since last summer, or whenever the most recent hiking boater had stopped to take a leak. But the landscape was beautiful with the scrubby bushes, patterns of black coral rock on the ground, views to the hills in the east and to the dozens of anchored boats to the west, swirling and swaying in the whitecapped aquamarine water.

The path took us across the island to the Atantic side, passing through several areas shaded by full tree canopy, feeling much like a forest tunnel. The ocean was angry and lashing the beach with huge surf from the howling winds. We continued onto the beach and walked it, enjoying the virgin sands, naturally cleared free of footprints, leaving ours as the only trace of humanity…except for the bits of plastic everywhere, which is so common on the beaches it no longer a surprise. We wondered if the local cruising community ever did beach cleanups, and I presume they did, but it’s possible the plastic piles up on the beach as fast as it can be removed.

We came to an area with many black pumice rocks jutting out from the earth, and here it had created a perfect collector for shells, and there were thousands, or hundreds of thousands of them. Stella and Ana spent a long while collecting the best ones, while I picked up a few then walked further down, exploring the rock formations and natural pools of seawater trapped in rocky bowls, hoping to find a stranded eel or snapper or lobster.

The path continued up a hill (mountain, for the Bahamas) and at the top was a concrete monument, obelisk-shaped, with steel fencing off to the side housing some sort of small solar system. I had no idea what the monument was for as it did not seem to be lit, so was not a navigational beacon, at least not at nighttime, and there was no placard or inscription. The 360 degree view from the top was stunning as it looked over the anchorages in Elizabeth Harbour, the full length of Stocking Island, and the deep blue Atlantic, boiling with froth.

From here, we descended to a beach on the Atlantic side, then cut back across on another forest path and popped out behind the Coconut Club, one of the four on the island and the one nearest our anchorage. Behind the complex was a long series of solar panels, rolled out on trolleys on a track, plus a diesel generator and what looked like a big RO system. A young worker came out and told us we couldn’t be back here because of the dangerous high voltage, so we explained this is where the path had dropped out, and we had no intentions of electrocuting ourselves. He invited us into the club and we ordered drinks at the bar, three for $27.

This Coconut Club seemed completely out of place. It felt like a movie set, maybe Barbie 2, as it was new (only 5 months old according to the bartender) and everything was custard ice cream yellow – the walls, the chairs, the canopies, the umbrellas, the counters. Around the perimeter was a long bar with dozens of bottles of spirits, perfectly arranged, on yellow shelving, and four frozen drink machines (also yellow), then the kitchen with an ordering and pickup counter, men’s and ladies washrooms, and a gift shop selling (yellow) shirts, hats, and sweatshirts. In the middle was a surprisingly non-yellow deck with dozens of tables and seating, then beside this was a games area with tabletop checkers, chess, and backgammon, Bocci, cornhole, foosball, axe throwing, and some sort of frisbee game. Looking to the ocean was a sparkling new dock, a line of beach loungers and umbrellas, and a roped off swimming area with three large floating islands. We enjoyed it thoroughly, but it was…weird, and seemed as if it was missing a backdrop of a few condo towers or massive resort to provide the needed customers.

We’d been watching this place from the boat since we arrived, wondering what was here, and not seeing a lot of boat traffic nor people. Today there were maybe 20 customers, some eating lunch, some having drinks on the floating island, all with the telltale signs of rich Americans – designer sunglasses, hat brims decorated with stars and stripes, branded clothing, unmistakable southern accents, extensive facial modifications, rounds of fancy cocktails, and little concern for the mounting bar tab. It was quite unlike the hordes of cheapskate sailors over at the Chat ‘N’ Chill, with their stealthily concealed coolers full of lukewarm Pabst Blue Ribbon tins, rum and colas in big bubba cups, packets of sunflower seeds, and bologna sandwiches. Seems there’s something for everybody here on Stocking Island.

After a nice picnic lunch on some benches we found in the forest near where we docked the dinghy, we returned to SeaLight, happy that the treacherous winds had not blown her right across the harbour into Georgetown. We relaxed. I read in the cockpit for a while then fell asleep. Stella chatted with her friends on the phone. I think Ana may have read and napped too. After a while I took the dinghy out to try snorkeling at one of the nearby hurricane holes, on the protected side, so safe to dinghy to. But when I arrived, I found dozens of permanently anchored boats, and the coral reef located in the entrance, right where all the released contents of boat holding tanks would swirl past, spreading nutrition. It looked like these boats had not moved for a very long time so I have no expectation anybody here was taking their boat three miles offshore to evacuate their tanks. I took a pass on the snorkelling and instead toured the three hurricane holes then returned to the boat.

We had a very quiet night on SeaLight. We ate reheat leftovers for dinner, played cards and dice, and watched a bit of tv. I maintained consciousness to Mariner’s Midnight then called it a night.

Anna Returns Home, and a Delicious Paella

Georgetown – 9 miles in dinghy, walked 1 kilometer

With a heavy windstorm expected to land later today we took the opportunity to do boat chores. I first double checked the anchor, noting the beauty of anchor management in Bahamas where you can even see the starfish nuzzling against your anchor chain fifteen feet down. I then transferred the reserve diesel and water we had into the tanks, emptying all the portable jugs, then loaded them up into the dinghy. Around 9:30 we stuffed ourselves in there too, along with the laundry and Anna’s bags as she would have a taxi waiting for her at noon to take her to the airport for her flight home.

I dropped off the girls, purchased gas and diesel from the Shell station, filled up the water jugs as the free RO (reverse osmosis) water tap at the dinghy dock, which is an incredible service the local Exuma Markets grocery store provides to cruisers, then zipped back to SeaLight and emptied them all into the tanks. But she was hungry for more, so I returned to town, bought more gas, filled the water jugs, and repeated the process, continuing my strenuous core workout in the process. While getting gas and chatting with the Shell attendant, a domestic maelstrom broke out beneath the tree in the park. A skinny Bahamian dude with gold teeth and half-full bottle of Kalik in his right hand and his girlfriend with fancy hair but a shabby pale green shirt, and who outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds, were screaming at each other. The subject of the dispute was something about money owed, skanky bitch, lazy drunken bum, and a bunch of other indecipherable Bahamian patois that I didn’t understand but sounded suitably cruel for the situation. At once the girl shot up and gave him a mighty push, sending him stumbling, spilling his beer all over himself and the ground. He staggered back and slapped her in the face. She tried to push him again, but tripped, and he grabbed her shirt and dragged her around in the sandy grass for a while. The Shell man hurried over and broke up the fight, sending the man away, but then the girl got into it with him and they started shouting back and forth. I couldn’t understand a word, but he did mention to me after it was all over that it’s not good for the tourist trade when these local love quarrels break out, so he does his best to keep the peace.

While all that was happening, the ladies were taking care of the laundry, stopped for coffee, and Anna picked up some snacks for the airplane. I was back at the dinghy dock by noon to get a final load of water and to say goodbye to Anna. I gave her a big hug, told her it was a pleasure having her on board and that she did a great job as crew and…we were going to miss her. She thanked me profusely then minutes later was in a taxi and whisked away to the airport. Ana had found a recommended taxi driver from one of the online cruisers forums and he was fantastic – showed up right on time and even waited to ensure Anna got checked in okay. He even sent us a photo of her waiting in line at the airport!

The remaining three SeaLight crew returned to the boat, did a big cleaning, remade the beds, added another bead of caulking to the floor seam (Stella learned how to use a caulking gun) then sat down and mapped out the next couple weeks of the passage, which would include a few days in Long Island then a return trip back up the Exuma chain, visiting some of the places we missed along the way, eventually returning to Nassau for Stella to return home…and to pick up our next visitors.

We finished the day with a cockpit sundowner to rapidly strengthening wind then an incredible meal of spinach and apple salad, fresh Bahamian buns, and paella enhanced with fresh Bahamian lobster and Queen conch.

The Return of the Prestone Rope Swing, Climbing the Mast, and Meeting the Cruiser Elders

Georgetown – 4 miles by paddleboard, 4 miles in dinghy, walked 500 metres

The winter winds in the Bahamas are relentless. It is always windy and they are predominantly from the east, but do circle around to every direction if you wait long enough. Strangely, today’s forecast was for very light winds shifting to nearly no wind, so we took advantage of it and had a beach day.

I began my morning with a long paddleboard ride, nearly four miles, meandering through the anchorage northwest then followed the shoreline southeast all the way to the famous cruisers hangout, the Chat ‘N’ Chill Beach Bar & Grill, established in 1998 as a day camp for boaters. It is situated on a picture-perfect horseshoe shaped beach, with powder sand, shaded by pine and palm trees which are hung with all manner of swinging devices to play on, like a big jungle gym. There are several volleyball courts, cornhole games, walking paths, a bar and restaurant, a conch shack, and I even saw a masseuse station. As it was early I was the only one there, so I wandered around and couldn’t help feeling I was on the set of a movie - it’s that idyllic. Of course the building structures were falling apart, like everywhere else we’ve seen in Bahamas, with the salt-saturated air and relentless UV but still, idyllic.

Back at the boat I started gathering tools for a visit up the mast, something I end up having to do at least once a year, and today was the day for it with the calm weather. I strapped on the bosun’s chair, attached the main halyard to it, then attached the spinnaker halyard directly around my waist as a backup. Then, I started to climb, made easier with the salt-sticky aluminum mast surface which held the soles of my feet like Velcro. Ana wound up the halyards on the winches as I climbed. I first reattached the radar reflector to the spreader, which had been partially knocked loose, then I continued close to the top of the mast to tighten the jib. For some reason, I hadn’t been able to raise the final three inches of jib from the mast halyard, but with me yanking on it from the top and Ana pulling on the line at the bottom, we got it. I then climbed right to the top of the mast to secure the windicator device which had been loose ever since we put the mast up back in Castelton. This is the v-shaped instrument that indicates the “no-go” sailing zone, which is about 30 degrees to the wind, and it also has an arrow that points to the actual wind direction. At that moment, I took a minute to look around and admire the spectacular view over the anchorage, the hills to the east, and west to Georgetown. I had considered bringing up my phone for nice aerial shots, but decided against it as we did not need another killed device; if the 60 foot drop onto the deck didn’t do it, the secondary bounce over the edge and into the seawater certainly would.

The last job on the way down was to figure out how I could attach my new deck light to the mast. I was hoping I could secure it to the pre-existing mounts for radar, but upon inspection that was not going to work, so I was going to have to get an appropriately sized tap to drill into the mast. Maybe in Nassau.

With the work done, we moved onto the next project – helping Magnus change his phone number. Overnight Ana started getting some strange messages from Magnus on text and she knew right away that somebody was spoofing his number, as when she asked him to verify his middle name and the names of our deceased hamsters, the respondent fell silent.

After a flurry of calls to tech support, password changes, and a bunch of other stuff Ana and Magnus collaborated on, it was finally done and we piled into the dinghy and headed over to Chat ‘N’ Chill in the heat of the early afternoon. We found ourselves at a picnic table in the middle of a meeting of the elders of the cruising committee, folks that had been coming here for decades, and were the beating heart of the Georgetown cruising community. They sensed fresh meat and immediately tried recruiting us.

“Did you know Mary got cancer and her and Bob had to go back to the States?” asked the matriarch leader at the head of the picnic table.

“Who’s Mary and Bob?” I asked, taking the bait.

“They are in charge of counting boats. For decades they have gone around each week in a dinghy counting all the boats in the harbour. Then we announce the total on Cruisers Net, VHF channel 72, at 8am.”

“Why don’t you get somebody with a drone to do it? You could probably find software or have the AI write a script that would do the counting automatically,” I suggested. Big mistake.

“So…you could do that for us?”

“Hell no. I don’t have a drone. And I'm not a programmer. It’s only a suggestion,” I said, then added, “I’m just the ideas guy.”

The elders were intrigued and discussed it amongst themselves, hive mind buzzing, as we went for a walk around the grounds. We returned after a while and the meeting was still on.

“See that guy in the yellow shirt?” the chairperson said, pointing at me. “He’s got a drone and is going to take over boat counting.”

“What?” I said, shocked. “I don’t have a drone. I ain’t counting boats. And we’re only staying here a couple of days. I’m just the ideas guy, remember?”

The elders lowered their eyebrows as me, as if I’d betrayed them. One of them spoke up, the one wearing the Buffalo Bills cap, granny shades, and suspenders on trunks.

“Well then which committee do you want to head up? There’s a lot of work to do before the cruisers regatta in a few weeks, you know. We need help with logistics, you want to lead logistics? And your wife, she could probably take on merchandise, right? Here, let me pencil your names in.”

Holy hell, we were caught in a volunteer firestorm. It was inducing an anxiety attack, and I’ve never even had one, but if it causes shortness of breath, heavy sweating, confusion, dribbles of urine in the swimsuit, desperation, and an overwhelming urge to flee into the thorny bushes at race pace, that’s definitely what it was.

“Folks, we cannot join any committees, forums, discussion groups, task forces, or project teams,” I explained. “That’s all we do at home. This is our sabbatical, we’re here to take a break from all that. Sorry, but that’s just the way it is. No can do. Thanks, but no thanks. Sayonara. Smell ya later.”

“What about volleyball? You guys want to play volleyball? Let’s play volleyball!” another of the elders announced in a squeaky voice as he rushed onto the sand court beckoning us forward.

With that, we promptly left the Meeting of the Elders and walked over to the conch shack to see what was going on. And what was going on was a dozen stingrays swimming around in the shallows, looking for handouts, letting people pet them, as the fisherman in the nearby boat was cleaning his conch catch and giving people the entrails to feed to the rays. After coaching me on the finer points of cleaning conch, he handed me a pile of conch guts, which I transferred over to young Anna’s hand, who transferred it to the mouth of a hungry stingray. The conch shack was also selling the fish catch of the fisherman. I asked how much for the snappers.

“$60 for the big ones, $25 for the small ones,” the conch salad lady told me. “And that big lobster’s for sale too, it’s our last one.”

She didn’t tell me the price of the lobster, probably after seeing my stunned reaction from the quotation for the granddad snapper. We returned to the volleyball court to watch the flubbed sets, the failed bumps, the back-straining dives, and the random serves from the collection of seven per side middle aged ex-non-volleyballers who were having a hell of a good time.

There was too much of a good thing going on at the Chat ‘N’ Chill. We had to leave.

We dinghy’d way north to the second of four beach bars we’d been told about – this one a local place called “DA SAND BAR” (his capitalization, not mine). It was a shack situated on a beautifully rounded spit of perfect sand with empty beach chairs out front, a covered up pool table, and plywood closed over the windows. The painted “Always Open” sign may have been incorrect.

“It’s because of the election,” a fellow cruiser told us, who had just arrived with a litter of kids and a Yeti of wine. “Nobody’s allowed to sell alcohol until 6pm. So you can still get wine with your dinner tonight. You'll be okay.”

She must have mistaken me for the type of cruiser who attends Bahamian dinners out deserving of wine. We had a short chat with her then pushed off and cruised back to SeaLight, vowing to return when DA SAND BAR resumed to normal operations.

It was time to reintroduce the Prestone Rope Swing, made famous by our last sailboat Bella Blue. I dumped the remaining antifreeze into a butter dish then tied the empty Prestone container to our spinnaker halyard and set it up for a test. It was already 4:30 but the day was still scorching hot. Stella was keen to try it, but not before I tested it out, in case a flaw in the design led to me splattering myself on the bow of SeaLight. I climbed our giant aluminum solar arch, grasped the Prestone bottle, then screamed a war cry as I launched and swung through the air, letting go just before I decapitated myself on the anchor chain.

“Perfectly safe, girls,” I hollered from the water.

Anna didn’t fall for it, but Stella did as my trusting daughter. She took a few swings and we made to sure to capture stills and video for online bragging purposes. I did the same, but with sunglasses on and a cigar in my mouth to look extra cool. The girls then inflated our pool toy loungers and floated in the ocean for a long time while Ana and I had a perfect sundowner on the deck of SeaLight, watching the orange ball slowly drop into the horizon, putting the wraps on another beautiful day in the Bahamas.