Sunday, January 26, 2025

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.

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