Thursday, January 30, 2025

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.

1 comment:

  1. Watch a show on Netflix about free diving. It’s amazing!
    The world record depth is 831 ft by Herbert Nitsch from Australia.
    I wouldn’t recommend starting that sport.
    We are headed for Ottawa next week for Marty’s birthday. Really looking forward to that. Too bad you will miss it.
    You guys are having the best time; love it.
    Give Stella a hug from us!
    Popsy

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