Wellington’s Beach Bar and the Full Moon Party

Hope Town – 3 miles in dinghy, 2 kilometres walked, 1 mile paddled

My spaghetti arms were suffering from a lack of exercise so I took the dinghy out for a morning paddle. Our current anchorage is beside a rather boring, straight part of the island with little for bays or structure to explore so I just paddled around in the water for a while moving in no particular direction. The folks on the decks of the mansions on shore enjoying their morning coffee as they looked out over the water must have thought I was trying to find a pair of lost sunglasses.

Ana and I spent a couple of hours in the morning doing route planning, which has become more interesting since Trump’s declaration of economic war and continued threats of annexing Canada. Though a scenario of the US and Canada’s skirmishes leading to the closure of borders and banishment of each other’s citizens seems remote and unlikely, we keep reminding ourselves that the Covid pandemic just a few short years ago, resulted in closed borders with out of country sailors becoming stranded all over the world, sometimes being stuck in international waters because no country would let them in. How does one prepare for this?

The most likely scenario is we remain in Bahamas until the end of March when the northern weather for passages improves, and travel across to the US, successfully check in, and get the cruising permit we need to transit the country back up to the Erie Canal for its May 16 opening, then make our way across and back into Canada. This is obviously what we are hoping for.

Another possibility is the US border becomes restricted to Canadians (and maybe others) and we are unable to enter, or visa restrictions are put in place that make it difficult or impossible. In that case, we’d have two options; the first would be to make a blue water passage back to Canada, possibly through Bermuda, and enter somewhere in the Atlantic provinces, then make the long passage west back through the St. Lawrence Seaway (against the current). This is not something we would want to do, unless we were able to find others to travel with for a safety net as we just haven’t done enough ocean cruising to make this a comfortable option.

The other option would be to put SeaLight up on the hard here in Bahamas, fly home, then return when the border reopened, hopefully before hurricane season.

We think the first scenario is by far the most likely, but that the border closure is possible. We have thought about beelining it back to the US now, but we don’t want to overreact, and also don’t want to forfeit these last days we have in paradise. So we will stay in the Bahamas for the next two weeks, enjoy our remaining time here, and hope the situation does not deteriorate.

It wasn’t until shortly after noon that we left for Hopetown and were excited to spot a big nurse shark along the way, cruising the shallows. We met Ben and Kate at the dock and walked together to the beach, set up base camp, then went snorkelling and found a series of underwater cliffs and valleys much like what we experienced at the French Leave beach in Governor’s Harbour, but with somewhat reduced visibility. We lounged on our beach towel for some time, enjoying the sun, the very slight breeze, and the vista of pink sand before us.

We’d noticed the Cap’n Jacks restaurant, near the dinghy dock, was consistently full of people so we decided to go there for lunch. I stopped before going in and stared intently at their logo, which featured an image of a young sea captain that resembled a mean Patrick Swayze, with a wry smile and untrustworthy look. I shook off my doubts and went in.

The setting was idyllic, with a long deck overhanging the ocean, full of small fishes waiting for scraps of food to drop, and a beautiful vista over the harbour. I ordered a Pirate Ale from the Pirate Republic Brewing Company in Nassau and it was so effervescent as to make it nearly undrinkable, plus it tasted terrible, which forced me to second guess my recent decision in Marsh Harbour to invest in four tall cans of their IPA. Ana had a virgin pina colada which was good, and our meals were just okay – mine, jerk chicken with peas and rice, and hers a rather dry hamburger. The curious thing about restaurants in the Bahamas is they all have nearly identical menus, and all specialize in “Authentic Bahamian Cuisine”. Restaurant menus here have rarely offered any sort of surprise.

Kate and Ben joined us, then Kevin and Ana too and we had a nice chat around the table as I struggled to finish my beer and kept being distracted by the leftover onions on Ana’s plate, as I picked up one oily noodle at a time and flipped over the railing, then watched the hundreds of fish fight for it. I also tossed in bits of lettuce and tomato too, which the fish devoured, but I ate the three French fries she was somehow unable to finish, and had to fight nobody for them.

We had seen a small sign beside a private home advertising a “Full Moon Party” from 4:30 today with the anticipated full moon rise around 7:15 pm, so after our late lunch we returned to it, followed the arrow up a path then down a staircase to find a cute beach bar that had been constructed beneath their deck overlooking the beach.  There was a long-haired dude there wearing a groovy bandana playing Neil Young songs on his Bluetooth speaker as he organized things at the bar, which was called Wellington’s.

After hooking us up with drinks he told us the story of Wellington’s. Their friend Wellington had passed away the year before and he’d always told his buddies of his idea to build a private and perfect beach bar under the deck of their family house where they could hang out. Well, after his death, his buddies made it happen, and today they opened up their private bar to the world as they looked to raise money for Wellington’s mom, who was having medical issues. The bartender’s brother arrived soon after this and told us of their family history, which could be traced directly back to the original Loyalists who populated this island in the 1700’s, supported by a book of genealogy created by a pair of keen Hopetown hobbyists and stored at the town library. He also shared details of hurricane Dorian, which they had survived, and the tough times the islanders had gone through to rebuild, which was particularly devastating as they were also struggling through Covid and the virtual disappearance of tourism, which fuels the island’s entire economy. But, as we’ve learned over the years, island folk are tough.

Soon, we were surrounded by many people, mostly cruisers and tourists, but there may have been a local or two mixed in. Everybody was talking, laughing, drinking, and enjoying an unexpected magical moment in what felt like a private club, an underground secret guild, a clandestine Hope Town speakeasy.

We left around 6pm and returned to our respective boats with no particular plan for tomorrow. Ana and I went out to the cockpit at 7:30 to see the full moon rise, but it didn’t happen until quite a while after that. But I'm sure the Wellington Full Moon Partygoers didn't miss it.

Hope Town - A Lighthouse, A Postcard Beach, A Paradise Pizza, and Reclaimed Sunglasses

Hope Town – 9 nautical miles sailed, 3 miles in dinghy, 8 kilometres walked, 100 metres swum

I dreamed last night that I returned to SV Waddington for a search and recovery dive mission and not just found my sunglasses, but that the ocean water, sand, and sewage particles from the boats dumping their holding tanks had restored my glasses to their original beauty, somehow repairing all the little scratches that had built up on the lenses over time. Naturally, immediately after waking up I took the dinghy over to Waddington with my dive gear and started looking. By the time Ben had jumped in the water to help me I had located them (some of my dignity was lying there on the ocean bed beside them; I just left that), but upon close inspection, the scratches remained. At least part of the dream came true.

After returning to SeaLight, we lifted the hook and motored over to the Conch Inn fuel dock where we topped up the diesel and filled the water tanks. All the cruisers have these little water testing devices that tells you how many parts per million of particles are present. The US guideline is to avoid anything over 600. This water was 1000. But after living in countries where meat is sold off hooks and a covering of flies on a mackerel at the fish stand is a good sign, I am not a great believer in guidelines where safety levels go way beyond what is just safe and border on insisting we consume only what is laboratory-clean to avoid the one in a million chance somebody gets a tummy ache. My test is to sniff it then taste it and if that checks out we are good to go. And this water was about a thousand times more delicious than the yellowish, clotted, murky substance we used to drink from my grandpa’s well in Foam Lake, Saskatchewan. It tasted of mallards and frog ass. Yet, we survived.

We motored back through the Marsh Harbour anchorage, threading past a Bahamas Customs boat with agents who were boarding vessels anchored there, and out into the bay, then crossed over to Elbow Cay, with the tide in our favour as we skimmed over the shallows west of the island looking for deeper water to anchor in. Sailing vessels Waddington and Domino were already there, and soon we had all dinghy’d into the Hope Town dock, ready to climb the last remaining kerosene-powered and manually operated lighthouse in the world.

The view from the top was magnificent and unbelievable. And by unbelievable, I mean the vistas looked AI generated and not real. Perhaps it was all built by a child? Toy boats floated on impossibly shallow waters, painted acrylic with shades of blue. Lego houses and docks made of matchsticks circled the bay, dug with a child’s hand, and the channel leading into it scraped out with a finger. Trees were bunches of moss, packed onto a piece of plywood holding the whole scene. The sky was phony blue with a few cotton balls for cumulous clouds, hanging from invisible fishing line to project authenticity. The pathways cut through the town were far too narrow for cars and wound artfully around the cardboard homes and shops.

Yet, after descending the lighthouse and taking the dinghies into town, we realized quickly that it was all real.

Remember how Ana had been telling everybody we know that Spanish Wells was the cutest and cleanest town in the Bahamas? Well, she had to call them all back a few days ago to let them know she’d made a mistake and Man-O-War Cay was actually the cutest and cleanest town in the Bahamas. After a leisurely stroll through today's town, walking down those slim and wonderful pedestrian pathways as they looped around the vibrantly-painted homes and businesses, she picked up her phone and started calling everybody we know saying the cutest and cleanest town in Bahamas was actually Hope Town.

The girls stopped to check out each boutique or gift shop, browsing the colourful clothing and tourist souvenirs. Ben and I pushed ahead of the group and found a picture perfect promenade with two chairs looking out to the sea, calling us to sit a while. We sat down and the serenity and beautify of the place overwhelmed us. We had a moment. And one of our sinister travel mates captured it on digital media.

We crossed the town to the Atlantic side and found, big surprise, an expansive and perfect beach with just a handful of people there. Tomorrow, we would return with swimming and snorkelling gear. Today, we could only wade in up to our knees and enjoy the cool water and pink flour sand between our toes.

Moving southward, the pathway turned into the Queen’s Highway, and it looked more like a highway than the last one we encountered, which could barely handle golf carts. We walked for a long while, aiming for a pizza place Ben had found on the map. Halfway there, a local lady stopped her golf cart and offered the three empty seats to the most beautiful of our group, leaving the smelly men to walk the rest of the way.

I love pizza, but have found reason to not trust pizza anywhere outside of the US or Canada. They just don’t make it right, and that includes Italy where they stubbornly refuse to put pineapple on pizza. In Central America they put corn niblets on it, canned tuna, and the cheese is gross. In the rest of Europe, it’s too thin, too stingy on ingredients, and way too expensive. In Asia? Forget about it. They don’t know how to make dough, then even when they do they put way too many fishy things on the pizza. I had my doubts that Bahamians were capable of making good pizza.

After nearly an hour wait, the pizza was ready and…it was incredible. It helped that we had found comfy chairs and a table shaded by tropical trees at the small café next door, which was closed, but the owner let us stay as long as we gave him the pizza leftovers and kept the ears and head of his trusty dog well scratched. We lounged there for a very long time, not wanting to leave.

It wasn’t until 5:30 that we made it back to the dinghies and all agreed that another day in Hopetown was in order.

Ana and I returned to SeaLight, went for a refreshing swim, made a few calls to folks back home, then retired for the evening after another magnificent day in the Bahamas.