An Ice Cream in Spanish Wells

Spanish Wells – 10 kilometres walked, 1 mile in dinghy

You know you’re becoming a local when you start to recognize the individual chickens crossing the streets, knows the names and backstories of the shopkeepers, have memorized the ferry schedules and arrival times of the mailboat from Nassau, and are starting to complain about the state of local politics. And hence, we found ourselves back in Spanish Wells.

There were three things we had left undone in previous visits to Spanish Wells. First was to sample the food at the Snack Vault. Second, have a drink at the Wreckers Restaurant and Bar. Third, visit the ice cream shop, open only from 7pm to 10pm and featuring just two flavours of soft serve, changed daily. By the end of the day, we had accomplished all of these, and discovered one new place.

With the wind still howling we pulled anchor and did the six mile hop into Spanish Wells, hoping to find an open mooring ball, otherwise we’d have to anchor in a nearby bay east of the island. Sadly, the mooring field was fully occupied with six boats so we thought our luck had run out, but as we were proceeding down the channel to the anchorage Ana looked back and saw people had walked out to the bow of their boat and were fiddling with the lines. So I did a 180 turn and we hovered around watching, unsure if they were leaving or maybe just adjusting the mooring line. There were three at the bow, having a hell of a time getting the lines untangled, as the occupants of two other boats in the anchorage stood on their decks, watching the mayhem, guarding their own boats, and not doing a single thing to help them, despite one of them already having their dinghy in the water, ready to go. After ten to fifteen minutes they finally managed to release themselves from the mooring and motor away. It was now our turn. You may have expected one of the spectator boats to have noticed the howling wind, the troubles the previous boat had, and maybe taken five minutes to get in their dinghy to give us a hand getting attached. This did not happen. What they did do, however, is hang out more fenders from their boats, assuming we’d have difficulty getting moored with the potential for losing control of our boat and bumping into theirs.

Well, it was very hard getting moored, and it took four attempts, but we finally got it as our neighbours stood watching. This really, really pissed me off. We have helped many boats along the way, with mooring balls and other things, in the spirit of cooperation and support, and most cruisers are like this because they know it’s only a matter of time until they are in a sticky or dangerous situation in need of help. I feel sorry for these folks because they are undoubtedly in a karma-deficit situation and the help may not be there when they most need it.

We took the dinghy into the Pinders dinghy dock, paid for two nights at the store, and had a nice long chat with the lovely lady working there, who told us about her dad recently passing away, and how he was able to do so in the comfort of his home instead of being whisked off to Nassau against his wishes.

From here, we walked over to the Snack Vault and were drawn in by the smells of lunch cooking. We ordered a burger and croissantwich with fries and enjoyed the food at a faded picnic table beneath a faded tent canopy as we watched the cute, uniformed schoolkids piling in from the school across the street, looking for their lunches. Brown bags were passed through sliding windows from the french fry jockeys to the kids, who vibrated and fidgeted as they waited. One little boy sniffed the outside of the paper bag he was handed, looked up in the air for a second, then nodded his head, sure that it contained his order, then ran back to school with his friends after kicking one of them in the ass for fun.

What we hadn’t done yet is to walk the two miles to the far west end of the island, so that’s what we did, beneath the heat of the hot sun, tempered by the strong wind. There we waded through the cool ocean water as locals and visitors relaxed on the beach. On the return trip we stopped at Wreckers and found a table on the waterfront. We enjoyed a cold drink as we eavesdropped on the conversation happening between a table of Americans and table of Canadians near us. Words we overheard were Trump, tariff, real estate, money, golf cart, and Let’s exchange contacts so we can do a business deal together (or something like that) proving that individual civility and cooperation is still possible despite an unstable American president waging economic war on its neighbours.

On the way back to the dinghy we discovered a new spot – The Lazy Pot Coffee Shop. Right on the waterfront in a modest space sat five senior locals, discussing local goings-on whilst lounging on dusty couches and ancient recliners as the smell of burnt coffee wafted into the street from the three drip coffee makers, sitting on painted plywood shelving, which also held up an antique popcorn machine which looked like it hadn’t popped a kernel in a while. We made a mental note to visit tomorrow to meet the local patriarchs.

After a lovely dinner of pork chops, mashed spuds, and boiled carrots we returned to the island and finally made our debut appearance at Papa’s Scoops. It was clearly the busiest nightspot on the island as we had to queue up behind two golf carts then a car immediately took the space in line behind us. Previous attempts to visit had been thwarted by either Mariner’s Midnight, late dinners, or bouts of evening laziness, but we finally overcame all obstacles and were here.

The two flavours on offer were Chocolate or Nutter Butter so we asked for one of each in a waffle cone, handed the owner ten bucks, and the transaction was complete, no waffling around as more customers were joining the line on scooters, golf carts, and cars, all anxious for their evening fix. By the time we were close to the dinghy our face, hands, and arms were covered in melted ice cream (which was delicious) so we used the public tap to wash up then returned to the boat, riding high on sugar.

Touring Spanish Wells

Spanish Wells – 6 nautical miles sailed, 5 miles in dinghy, 6 kilometres walked

It was a dark and stormy night.

But by the morning it had calmed somewhat so we were the first boat to pull anchor and we motored into Spanish Wells. The ideal plan for the day hinged on us finding an open mooring ball and that we did – one left, so we grabbed it, gave a team “Hurrah!” then dinghy’d into shore and paid for two nights.

The plan for today was simply to walk the island. We met a young American couple as we were standing on the eastern end of the island looking out to the striking sea colours and they did the classic American story dump. Within five minutes we’d learned they had four kids, were real estate investors who owned a series of apartment blocks, had some sort of alternative mortgage business, the husband was also a professional fisherman who traveled the world for fishing tournaments and had recently just missed out, by a couple of ounces, on a hundred thousand dollar prize. She seemed to be primarily her husband’s cheerleader, but I’m sure she had plenty on the go too. They were visiting friends in Spanish Wells. I think we told them our names before saying goodbye and moving on.

Dave and Kira were intrigued by the vegetations and mesmerized by the sea colours, which made us realized how accustomed we’d become to these everyday sights in the Bahamas that are extraordinary. We were able to appreciate them again through the fresh eyes of our friends as we walked the island.

We stopped at an art studio and got a crash course in Spanish Wellian history from the resident artist and art teacher from the school next door. He showed us around the studio proudly as he pointed out all the pieces created by locals artists and kids from the school. He was also able to answer many of my burning questions about the Bahamas, but went further and told us about the raccoon problem on Eleuthera. Legend had it that some nimrod had brought a pair of mating raccoons to Eleuthera from the US some years before. Well, those two lovers had gone Marvin Gaye and produced an army of offspring, who went on to reproduce themselves, and you know how exponential growth goes. The raccoons found plenty of organic fruit to eat from the wild fruit trees and discarded food waste, making them a desirable organic meat themselves. The artist told us his friend goes there to trap them, and sells them for ten bucks each to the Haitian community living there, who are one step ahead of the other locals in identifying nutritious and affordable food options. Our artist friend claimed he was ready and willing to sample raccoon, but only if it was prepared well by a competent chef. We remained skeptical.

I mentioned in an earlier journal that Kira is a hobbyist. Among other things, she is very good at sewing so we stopped at the shop that has a large collection of fabric and found an entire row of marine-themed fabric. Swirls of shells, leaping dolphins, lobsters on parade, smiling manatees, strings of sea grass, clackity clams, beds of sponges, and fishes, so many fishes. She held various fabrics up to Dave’s body, judging which mosaic of sea creatures best brought out his handsome features and reflected his inner Aquaman. I recommended he also pick up a solid gold, diamond-eyed, spiny lobster necklace like the one we’d seen on the manly Spanish Wellian fellow pumping fuel at the gas dock last week, tucked safely into his thick grey chest hair, as if hiding within a coral reef.

We stopped at Kathi’s bakery for fresh banana bread and Johnny cake then hit the supermarket for a few small provisions – dorado fillets, ground burger, cilantro, vanilla wafers, papaya, and a few sexy vegetables. From here we walked up to the Buddha Bar, a local institution that we had yet to visit. The entrance was a house with a trailer parked beside it and a carport you walked through to enter. On closer inspection the trailer was, in fact, the kitchen and the carport led to the bar, a Caribbean themed mishmash of parrots squawking from a cage, wooden tables with metal napkin dispensers, plastic chairs that tattoo the buttocks, televisions dangling from beams, tuned to English football, clever sayings scratched on driftwood hung from every other available space, palm trees and bushes at the perimeter, and servers that outnumbered the customers and spoke with that glorious Spanish Wellian dialect.

Once we had claimed a table, Dave and took the groceries and began walking back to the boat. As we reached the oceanside road I spotted a golf cart approaching. I stopped, concentrating intensely with my eyes closed and a throat hum, then broadcast this telepathic message to the driver: Give those clowns a ride. Give those clowns a ride. Give those clowns a ride.

The driver's head rocked back as if he had been shot, then he gave it a shake, looked over at us, slowed down and said, “You clowns need a ride?”

“Sure do!” said Dave. “So nice of you to stop.”

“No problem…yet I somehow felt like I had no choice,” he said, almost to himself, slightly flustered.

I winked at Dave. He winked back. I tried winking with the other eye but it didn’t work, so we just did our secret handshake instead. Our driver whipped us back to the dinghy at top speed then we embarked, but not before waving my hand in front of his face, saying, “You will remember nothing.”

We did a quick turnaround at the boat, jamming the freezies into the freezer, coolies in the main chamber, and rest of it on the counter, then powered the dinghy back to a private dock close to the restaurant, tied it up, and hustled back up the road to the restaurant, stopping only to give a drink of Pabst Blue Ribbon to the gaudy Trump head lawn sign in somebody’s yard.

Kaliks and ginger beer arrived shortly and we put in our late lunch orders then I wandered the restaurant, looking for life tips, first from the parrots but they had nothing to say on the matter, then from the driftwood signs. Two hit me as profound:

I find when I keep one pant leg tucked into a sock, people expect less of me.

Potatoes make French fries, chips, and vodka. Seems like other vegetables aren’t even trying.

After our leisurely lunch we had just enough light remaining in the day to take the dinghy up the channel in search of dolphins and manatees. Sadly, we struck out on both, but did use the high tide to motor over to the swing sets Ana and I had found the week before which were now fully surrounded by water. And we had a lovely ride.

Our evening entertainment on SeaLight was the movie Border, which features the greatest sex scene ever filmed in the history of moviemaking, and naked creatures running joyfully through the forest. It brought me sweet dreams.

White Bahamians and Scenes From Spanish Wells

Spanish Wells – 8 kilometres walked

We spent the day walking the island and doing a few boat jobs. Dark clouds began circling in the morning, threatening rain all day, but when it did come it was just a sprinkling.

A few images of the day. Kathi frying Johnny Cakes on a cast iron pan while pushing a sheet of dough rolls into the small oven at Kathi’s Bakery, running since 1989, and nothing more than a small addition to her house with a stove, counter, and fridge. Schoolchildren at recess playing in an immaculate schoolyard playground. Three disc golf targets, nestled into a park bordered by a church, a cemetery, and an oasis of palm trees. A box of Fruit Loops at the grocery store for US$9.35. A chicken we startled jumps up and four tiny sat-on chicks appear, hopping, tripping, and scurrying to catch up to their mom. As we walk the tidy streets, every local in a golf cart or car gives us the one or sometimes two finger wave and a nod. A lady in a creamy dress on the porch, senior of seniors, waves at us from her blue house and smiles kindly. Ana straightens up the caulking mess I made in the head as recaulking was overdue. I slide cotter rings into the stainless steel rigging turnbuckles, as the ones previously installed have disappeared. As suggested by the owner, at high tide we stand on the floating dock of our Adventurer Marina under a dropping sun and spray fresh water into the sea, hoping to attract the manatee that regularly lives under the dock. From SeaLight’s cockpit I hear two sonic booms from the SpaceX rocket landing near Eleuthera. Ana wears earbuds and sits at the laptop as she participates in the Newport Yacht Club board meeting until late at night, scratching intermittently at her no-seeum bites.

Spanish Wells is an interesting part of the Bahamas as 80% to 90% of the permanent residents are white. And white Bahamians constitute only 10% of the overall population of the Bahamas. White settlers originally came from England, Ireland, and Scotland, but also the US and other Caribbean islands. Many of the residents of Spanish Wells have a certain common look that is difficult to describe, as is their unusual accent. If you were to run into a Spanish Wellian somewhere else in the world and heard them speaking, you would not have any idea where they were from. It’s an interesting mix of Bahamian patois, British English, and southern American drawl. Ana and I spent many moments here just listening to people talking. It is very different from the black Bahamian accent, which seems fairly consistent across the different islands, but all Bahamians seem to communicate with each other just fine, although visitors don’t have a clue what anybody is saying when they really get going.

Tomorrow we plan to leave the dock at Spanish Wells for one of the nearby anchorages to see if we can find some fish and lobsters.

A Tour of Spanish Wells, Surprise Beach, and a Visit From a Manatee

Spanish Wells – 2 nautical miles sailed, 4 miles in dinghy, 2 kilometres walking, 2 miles by paddleboard

I woke up at my regular time, feeling great. After a bit of writing I took the dinghy out to the reefs north of the anchorage. There was almost no wind as we were between weather systems and the water was flat and beautiful, broken only by the wakes of the passing fishing boats.

The reef was decent but the water clarity was not great, likely churned up by the winds of the past few days. I saw a few fish, but nothing worth shooting at, and could find no sign of lobster. Still, it was good to be in the water as I hadn’t snorkelled for a while.

After breakfast we took the dinghy back into the fuel dock to say goodbye to Catherine and John, who were on their way to Hatchet Bay, Eleuthera to meet up with their friend who lives there and is a caviar and champagne importer. Really. Catherine had texted Ana in the morning and told her they had arranged for a night of free docking for us at the slip they had prepaid for at least another week but wouldn’t be needing it. We’ll take that.

Unfortunately the lobsters had already been unloaded from the lobster boat so we didn't get to see that, but it worked out well as the big boy pulled away just as John and Catherine were arriving. We helped them dock then hung around while they fuelled up and filled their water tanks from the amazing RO system there which is in place primarily for the lobster processing plant, but is also available to cruisers for 50 cents a gallon. I asked the local man filling it about the presence of manatees in Spanish Wells and he told me there were no manatees anywhere in the Bahamas when he was younger, but they’d somehow found their way here over the years, and there were a number of these beautiful sea cows to be found in the channel, even young ones. The prospect of seeing manatees again was thrilling. After our chat, I browsed the seafood store and found grouper, lobster meat, and conch, all for US$20/pound. They also had larger bags of crab claws which were $120. On the top shelf was a giant lobster tail, and a photo of the local lady who had captured the beast just off the reefs here in Spanish Wells a few years before. It was a 14 pound lobster with a tail that weighed over 4 pounds, and they had kept the giant frozen tail trophy in the freezer since then.

After saying goodbye to our new friends and watching them sail down the channel towards the harbour entrance, we dinghy’d over to Pinders Supermarkeet and tied up at the dinghy dock then went for a walk. We visited a few shops, deposited a bag of aluminum cans at the local public school which has a collection facility there (the only such place we’ve discovered in the Bahamas), I picked up a couple of ultra-cheesy Spanish Wells postcards, bought fresh milk, and we found a great book exchange. The town is extraordinarily clean and well kept, and John had told us to avoid locking anything up as the locals are insulted by this. As we walked we saw open doors, keys in golf carts and cars, valuables in the open, no locks anywhere. Small town life still exists.

Ana and I returned to SeaLight, had lunch, then sailed back in and docked at Adventurers marina. A beautiful and protected channel runs through Spanish Wells, creating a mangrove wonderland between it and Russell Island and Charles Island to the south. My poor paddleboard had been suffering from disuse so I removed it from the deck and launched it while Ana ground through some yacht club work in the hot cabin. I paddled all the way to the western end of the channel, passing surfacing turtles and inviting gaps in the mangroves leading to other anchorages, but sadly no manatees. At the end of the channel I was surprised to find a small bridge to Russell Island and an opening to the sea, so I passed beneath the bridge and the channel opened up into a huge and shallow bay with delicious beaches on both sides. I landed the paddleboard on the shallows, becoming shallower by the minute with the dropping tide, and walked through the ankle-deep water for a while, wishing Ana was here with me to see it, then realized I could just go back and get her, so I jumped back on board and paddled back to SeaLight.

We rode the dinghy and when we returned I was surprised to see the shallows I had been walking in had transformed into a massive offshore beach. We pulled the dinghy onto it then walked, first across the sand, then through the shallows which went on and on and on. We crossed through a knee-deep channel back to the mainland where we found two swings suspended from posts mounted into the dry sand, that would become foot-deep water before long. A passing couple offered to take a photograph of us, in an image that is sure to be one of our favourites from the trip.

We had a little swim then got back in the dinghy and motored carefully as the water had become even shallower. As I scanned the bottom, looking for the deepest path, I suddenly saw something large off our bow – a manatee! I cut the engine and stopped the boat. We could see the bubbles breaking on the surface and the swirling patterns in the water from its tail movements as it came towards us. Then, we could see it perfectly – a juvenile manatee, still big, maybe five feet long, but tiny compared to an adult, and already had a few propellor scars on its back plus a smear of blue bottom paint. She passed right beside our boat and we could see her whiskered face so clearly, but also her front flippers, the scars, and her mermaid tail. We floated alongside her for a long time, watching her rooting up sea grass with her nose and sucking it in. We then lost sight of her so I started splashing my hand in the water. Sure enough, she approached again and brought her face right up to my hand where I was able to have the faintest touch on her nose before she had a look at us then descended. We could not believe our luck. We’d seen many manatees back in Vero Beach, but none nearly this close, and her details were just as beautiful as we’d imagined.

The only unfortunate aspect of the experience was that Stella was not here to see it. She would have fallen in love with her.

ANA + KRIS

Nassau to Spanish Wells – 40 nautical miles sailed, 6 miles in dinghy

The anchor was lifted at 9:30 and we began the 40 mile sail to Spanish Wells, Eleuthera, maneuvering east out of the Nassau harbour then northwards around Athol Island, Blue Lagoon Island, Rose Island, and Chub Rock, being careful to avoid the many reefs and dozens of tourist boats zipping around at speed. The area around Nassau is very, very busy with boat traffic at all hours of the day so diligent attention is needed. Once out of the frenzy, we set a course for Spanish Wells which took us across an open stretch of the ocean where depths plunged into the thousands of feet. I set my fishing line in the hopes of finally landing a worthy game fish…but none took the bait. We did succeed in finally seeing a pod of dolphins, which Ana spotted far off our port side, right in the middle of the deepest water, which was surprising as we had become accustomed to seeing them closer to shore in shallower and busier areas of the ICW and coastal areas of the US. We also saw dozens of flying fish and managed to capture a short video of a few of them flying around. These fish are truly incredible and able maintain flight for far longer than one would expect. I was hoping one would fly up and land on our deck so we could have a closer look, but they kept their distance.

Around 3:30 we arrived at an anchorage at Meeks Patch, an island just south of Spanish Wells that provided good protection from the still strong southeast winds. Along the way one of the upper shrouds in our rigging had come loose and was banging around for a while but finally got wrapped around the mast and lodged itself tight. I must have forgotten to attach cotter rings to this turnbuckle when I assembled the mast back in the spring at Niagara-On-The-Lake Sailing Club, which felt like three eternities ago. Fortunately, we had been sailing with just the jib and not the main, which would have added much more stress on the rigging, so I wasn’t overly worried about it and expected to be able to go up the mast and fix it once we were in settled waters.

Ana had received a message on Noforeignland from a couple we had met way back in North Carolina – John and Catherine on sailing vessel Adventure. They were docked in Spanish Wells and invited us over for a visit. After a quick swim, and after getting hit with a huge wake from a dumbass and careless powerboater who rapidly deaccelerated his boat right beside ours, creating the largest wave possible, we got in the dinghy and started the nearly three mile crossing. Once rounding Meeks Patch we were hit with large waves built up over the stretch of the bay to North Eleuthera and it was a splashy ride, but we did manage a selfie and spilled our drinks and nearly swamped the dinghy in the process of capturing it.

John and Catherine welcomed us aboard their lovely Hans 40’ and we spent a couple of hours chatting over drinks and snacks as we watched the many turtles in the channel bobbing their heads up and down. Though we’d only met them once before, they felt like good friends, and we had an amazing time as we caught up on each other’s movements in the preceeding months. So amazing in fact, that we hatched a plan to travel together in SeaLight to Harbour Island through the dreaded Devil’s Backbone passage the following day. We left their boat around 8:30, vowing for us to all think on the plan then reconnect tomorrow to confirm if we wanted to proceed. By the time we reached the boat, after cruising at top dinghy speed over surprisingly calm waters beneath the light of a full moon, we’d already heard back from them saying they’d love to go. We were thrilled at the prospect of a new adventure as we’d been reluctant to undertake this passage on our own. Eight eyes are better than four.

As we were eating dinner, Ana showed me a message and photo she had just received from Marie, Corey, and Alice, our friends who were still in at the mooring field in Fort Lauderdale. Marie and Alice had been going through some of their trip photos and found an interesting one they had taken in a lock in the Erie Canal, months before we had met them, but shortly after we ourselves had passed through that same lock.

ANA + KRIS