Georgetown, Exuma - The Halfway Point

Farmers Cay to Georgetown – 43 nautical miles sailed, 3 miles in dinghy, 2 kilometres walked

As the hazy grey hues of dawn approached, I prepped the boat for our 43 mile sail to Georgetown.

Georgetown, Exuma is the epicentre of the cruiser community in the Bahamas and marks the halfway point of our trip and nearly the furthest south we will travel on our journey (we may venture further to Long Island next week…we’ll see). The arrival in Georgetown will be a special one.

We have been gone from Canada since Sept 28, a total of 116 days. Ana needs to be back for May 1, which is 99 days from now and I will return by June 1 with the boat, in 130 days. Do we feel like we are running out of time? Not at all. We have kept up a decent pace, always moving, deciding on routes day to day, and have seen so many incredible sights, met so many people, covered so many miles, that time has lost most of its regular meaning. We don’t often discuss or even recognize what day it is, it doesn’t matter when we get up or go to bed, and our daily activities happen as they happen and are not scheduled. This has put me in a fantastic mental state as the stress of time management in our regular lives can be punishing and relentless. It’s been a bit different for Ana as she kept her director position with the yacht club and needs to put aside time, usually daily, to work on various things, respond to emails, take calls, and so on. When she decided to continue with that role she thought she would need something to keep her busy during the trip, but it has not turned out that way. This role has been a real pain in the ass for her and has sapped some of her enjoyment of the trip. Not a lot, but definitely some. I think she regrets taking it on, but Ana knows the club needs her and is fiercely dedicated to the things she commits to, and does such an amazing job. But…lesson learned.

Back to the trip. I like to track things and have been noting our daily tallies for sailing miles, walking, paddling, locks, bridges, and even fish caught. At this halfway point, I decided to compile all this data, here are our totals:

Sailing – 2019 nautical miles

Dinghy – 135 nautical miles

Walking – 540 kilometres

Swimming/snorkelling – 1.2 kilometres

Driving – 1153 kilometres

Public transportation – 101 kilometres

Biking – 33 kilometres

Paddleboarding – 11 nautical miles

Number of locks – 32

Number of bridges – 75

Conch caught – 4

Fish caught – 3

Lobsters caught – 2

I don’t know why I do this. I think it’s the inner accountant in me. And I know I have not accurately captured every single mile or kilometre, but I expect it’s very close, and it's nice to have this data as it allows me to do some interesting calculations. For example, for days on land, we average 6.1 kilometres walking, 82 kilometres driving, and 17 kilometres by public transport. For the days we sailed, we average 36.7 nautical miles. And for the passages that involved steel infrastructure, we averaged 4.6 locks and 5.4 bridges per day. We only biked one day and those 34 kilometres were a killer!

Perpetual motion unrestricted by time. For me, this is a recipe for happiness.

We had an easy passage to Georgetown and sailed much of the way with a strong wind on our beam. I fished with our hand line the entire time and did not get a bite, which was made worse by some VHF chatter we heard between boats bragging about the two mahi one of had hooked into and landed one of them. I’ll have to keep trying.

We anchored on the western shore of Stocking Island alongside about 40 other boats then took the dinghy the 1.5 mile ride into Georgetown. There were boats anchored throughout Elizabeth Harbour, I am guessing several hundred, but that did not come as a surprise knowing the reputation of this place.

What did we find on land? We found a much larger town, with two grocery stores, several bars and restaurants, tourist shops, a small straw market, a convenient gas station, lots of vehicles, liquor stores, and all the regular living stuff such as churches, schools, banks, and medical facilities. Despite the preponderance of boats, it did not feel touristy, nor particularly cruisey. It just felt like a larger version of the other small Exuma villages we’d seen. It was nice, but not outstanding. But I know it takes a bit of time to figure these places out, so we’ll be patient as we explore.

We took a long walk around town, looked in the shops, picked up a few groceries, made a donation to some schoolkids doing a fundraiser, then treated the girls to a burger and fries lunch/dinner at the Island Boy Café. We returned to the dinghy (after the girls made a local friend) and got back on the water just as it was getting dark so had to do a bit of guessing as to which of the hundreds of boats was SeaLight but we found her without much trouble.

Young Anna would be turning 19 years old on her first day back in Canada so Ana and Stella got stealthy and had made her a cake during the day and hidden it in the v-berth. They brought it out with 19 flaming candles as we sang Happy Birthday. Anna was very pleased and blew out all the candles except two, and I know that probably means something but I’m not going to speculate.

We have one more full day with Anna then she flies out early Friday afternoon, completing her Caribbean adventure.

Conch Cracking, Farmers Cay Yacht Club, Lobster Hunting, Noni Fruit

Little Farmers Cay – 2 kilometres walked, 3 miles in dinghy, 1 kilometre snorkelled, 1 lobster, 2 conch

If anchoring ever gets easy, you’re probably forgetting something.

Last night I looked closely at our anchor alarm, charts, and forecasted wind direction, and started getting a little worried. The wind was expected to shift eastwards, pushing us into the lee shore. The charts showed a depth of 4.9’ close to the edge, but with a high tide at midnight I thought we’d be okay as that would give us an additional two to three feet of water. As a precaution, we pulled in fifteen feet of chain, in the utter blackness of the night, still leaving 75 feet out, giving us a scope of about 5 to 1. Still, not a great idea anchoring on a lee shore, but there weren’t many other better options in this anchorage.

I woke up many times during the night to check the anchor alarm, and was pleased to see five feet of water beneath the keel even after the east wind had shifted us as close to the shore as it could, and it was blowing hard. Still, a fitful sleep, as I dreamed of vicious sailboat groundings instead of tropical paradise lobster hunting.

We decided not to sail today as the winds were strong and would be directly in our face, making for a very lumpy ride. Instead, we went snorkelling. I took Ana and Stella (young Anna opted for a sleep-in) back to where I had been lobster hunting the previous day and we beached the dinghy then swam in and snorkelled the shoreline. The water was rough, and there was a slight current, so conditions were not ideal, but the girls enjoyed it. I had my spear and ventured further out and for longer in search of lobsters. At first I could not find any, but I did get two beautiful large conch which I snatched up from the bottom and cradled under my arm as I continued searching. I came across one promising rock ledge and was suddenly faced with a giant lobster in twelve feet of water, with his large claws out, half his wiggly feet in view, his spiny head, and his beady black emotionless eyes, just looking around, like he owned the place. The rest of his body was hidden under the rock ledge. I wasn’t sure how to proceed as it’s tough to stalk lobster with an armful of conch. I swam into the shallows and dropped the conch in a rock trough for safe keeping (little chance of escape as the typical conch getaway speed is 8 MPY – Metres Per Year) then returned to the lobster, dove down, snuck up behind it, and grabbed one of his large antennae. He immediately propelled himself backwards beneath the ledge and completely disappeared from view. He had found an excellent hiding spot.

I gathered up my conch, did the long return swim to the dinghy, seeing a sea turtle along the way, and showed the girls my catch. Conch fritters were back on the menu. We returned to SeaLight, had a spot of lunch, then all dinghy’d over to the Farmers Cay Yacht Club. I had taken an early morning run there and found a great club with a restaurant, bar, pool table, beautiful lounge area, and most importantly, a decent  laundry facility. The only problem was the town water supply had been shut off temporarily to repair a leak, but it was back on by the time we arrived.

We tied up the dinghy at the fixed dock, went inside, met the cast of characters including the bartender and his 90 year dad who looked 60, and got our two loads of laundry going then started our walk into town. Little Farmers Cay is a skinny island, dry, with one main road and a few dirt cross streets, and ample greenery. We walked into the town centre, which consisted of a small convenience store (closed, but we peeked in the window and saw just a few cans on the shelves), a restaurant, seaside bar (open, but empty except for the one nice lady tending bar), a couple of small gift shacks, and a public dock with a small gang of Bahamians drinking Kaliks and running an endless supply of conch through the conch cracking machine, creating a large pile ready for a deep fryer, somewhere. It was the most epic Bahamian Family Island scene I could imagine. A signpost at the street junction had wooden arrows pointing to many more venues – a health clinic, police, and more restaurants, none of which we could see so they must have been hidden down side streets.

I walked down the dock to chat with the conch crackers and asked what was in the submerged cage we could see in the water.

“Lobster,” said the bloke guarding the pile of conch.

“Live lobsters, huh,” I said, then was distracted by the big ray and turtle cruising in the water beneath me. “How much for a lobster?”

“Forty-five,” he said without hesitation. Good thing I had started developing some rudimentary lobster hunting skills.

Having conquered downtown, we wandered back and stopped at Denzel’s, a local artist, wiry and wet, who motioned for us to come in after his two pot cake dogs alerted him to our presence. With a wide smile and modest collection of teeth, Denzel showed us his home – a concrete bunker with a tv playing religion and a cot on the ground, then his canvas paintings of dark figures smoking weed, island trees, and swirly people, then walked us around his property, which was filled with fruit trees.

“If I want to eat, I need to grow it myself!” he told us, then pulled two small pomegranate fruit from a tree and gave one to each of the girls.

“Here, you try this,” he said to Ana after pulling a mushy grey fruit from the branch of a different tree and handing it to her. “It’s called noni. It’s good for your health, for everything…but you might not like the taste.” That was the universal signal to push Dad to the front of the line as the sacrificial taste tester. Ana passed me the mystery fruit and I took a small bite. It was hard to identify the full bouquets of exotic flavours, but I was definitely picking up hints of monkey rectum, child vomit, putrified shark, rotten cheese, and toilet sludge.

“Mmmmm, good!” I said, then reconsidered. “Actually Denzel, I can’t eat the rest of this, no matter how good it is for me. I believe noni is an acquired taste.”

“I understand my man, but here – take two unripe ones in case you develop a taste for them.”

We took the stinkfruit (which Ana promptly tossed into the bush once we were out of sight) and bought a bag of pomegranates from Denzel but no art, explaining that the wall space in our boat was very limited. He understood and seemed happy with the twelve bucks for the fruit.

Back at the yacht club we swapped the clothes from the washers into the dryers then continued inside for a round of drinks. I had a long chat with the bartender and regret that I did not ask him his name nor offer my own. He supplied the ladies with the wifi password which kept them fully occupied with Tik Tok, Instagram, and texting for the duration of the dry cycle. I could have easily stayed for five more Kaliks in this fine establishment, but the remaining minutes of precious daylight were limited and I had one more thing yet to do.

We dinghy’d back to SeaLight, the girls unloaded themselves, and I grabbed my snorkeling gear and returned to the scene of the Giant Lobster, desperate for one more attempt on his life. I felt like I must be rapidly developing some fisherman skills as I dropped the anchor of the dinghy nearly on top of the exact location, which I realized after flopping over the side and immediately seeing the magnificent specimen in the exact hole and position where we had first met. As my previous attempt to grab his antenna failed, this time I planned to load the spear with as much pressure as I could and fire a shot at his spiny hard head, hoping it would penetrate for a fast kill and easy retrieval. I took a breath and swam down, equalizing along the way, then stretched the rubber of the spear and locked it with my thumb. The lobster looked at me with no fear, antennae solid, legs secure, possibly bracing for impact. I held out my arm and aimed down the spear. The underwater world was dim, as the sunlight was fading fast, but I could see him clearly. I pointed the spear at his head and released my thumb. The spear shot through the water and pranged off a rock just below his chin. He disappeared in a cloud of dust, never to be seen again. I was devastated.

As a consolation prize, I swam to a nearby rock ledge where I had seen a lobster yesterday. Sure enough, there was a small antenna poking out. I swam down, released a shot, and landed it perfectly. I pulled the lobster out- it was a small one, still legal, but not stunningly huge like my intended target. Still, I did not have to suffer the indignity of returning to the girls empty handed.

I had one more look for Big Daddy before leaving, and even tried to pry him out with my spear. But he was dug in deep, safe from the likes of me. I wished him well, accepted defeat, had a last look around this incredible coral reef, then returned to the boat for our final evening in Farmers Cay.

Farmers Cay - My First Lobster!

Black Point – 12 nautical miles sailed, 3 miles in dinghy, 1 kilometer snorkelled, 1 lobster caught

If we ever wanted to clear the boat of flying insects we were going to have to leave Black (Fly) Point, so we did just that shortly after 8am. We traveled the inside route this time on the Exuma Banks and the water was calm and easy to navigate. The approach to Farmers Cay was quite shallow, and despite being at half tide we still had less than two feet under the keel at times, but we managed to squeak in and anchored ourselves at the southeast corner of Little Farmers Cay. This anchorage sits at the junction of three islands – Little Farmers Cay, Big Farmers Cay, and Great Guana Cay and is very well protected from winds in every direction. It was a mere 12 mile run which left plenty of time in the day for exploring.

We sort of forgot to feed the girls yesterday and the SeaLight Adventurer Package they had purchased for the trip included all meals, unlimited alcohol, free laundry services, wake up calls (no earlier than noon), complimentary dinghy transport, day trips, iced coffee on demand, unlimited snacks, pillow fluffing, nightly ukulele serenades, and foot rubs, so we felt like we weren’t keeping up our end of the deal on the food side of things. Thus, we made a huge breakfast to make up for it, in the hopes they would not lodge a complaint with Corporate. Breakfast sausages (recently liberated from the frozen ice block in our freezer), hot baked beans, over-easy eggs, juice, and Texas toast, served in the cockpit with the magnificent backdrop of a beach and mostly deserted island. They seemed satisfied.

The Noforeignland app showed an airplane wreck on the other side of the island so we packed the dinghy to the rim with snorkelling gear, a beach umbrella, towels, snacks, speaker, and a bag full of other stuff (minimalists, we are not), then somehow jammed ourselves in around the edges and set off at a painfully slow pace around the island as the Tohatsu 9.8 groaned and worked. We landed on a nearby beach and set up Away Base, adjacent to a landing strip (which explains the sunken plane) and a restaurant, which looked very closed.

I grabbed a mask and fins and set out to survey the area. It was mainly sand, with a narrow strip of sea grass and rock which was home to some fish, but not swarms of them. Further out was more sand and the dark patches I saw on our way in, expecting coral, was just boring sea grass. I did a large loop and of course the not so friendly neighbourhood barracuda paid me a visit, but fortunately he was a singleton and didn’t bring his punk-ass friends with him. I was still a little spooked from yesterday so I kept one eye on him and one on the beach (little trick I learned from a Peruvian zoo chameleon years ago) as I made my way back in.

I picked up Stella and we went out to try and find the plane wreck but we could not locate it, so instead we went snorkeling in a different area, but again didn’t see too many fish, although we did come across a turtle and followed him around for a while. Ana and I then went back out in the direction we came, but again didn’t find anything interesting to snorkel so returned to the beach, explored the closed restaurant grounds, walked a bit, then decided to head back to the boat as it was getting very hot outside - 25 degrees but it felt much hotter with the direct sunshine.

The return trip seemed to take half the time, despite the engine sputtering out twice, reminding me I need to either clean the carburetor or run more Sea Foam through the engine. I went back out in the dinghy myself, determined to find a good snorkelling spot, and hopefully catch something for dinner. The dinghy engine again conked out a couple of times, which gave me pause, then it started running okay so I went through the cut to reach the outside Exuma Sound area of the island, but it was rough as hell. There was a small rocky outcropping with deep water just off the island which I was hoping to get to, but the large swells, rough waves, and tricky standing waves in the cut made me reconsider my plan and I turned around. I anchored the dinghy near a rock wall approaching the cut, dove in, and found a spectacular stretch of coral, full of fans, elk horns, sponges, brain coral, many fish, and only a weak current. I carried my spear, looking for something significant to shoot and swam the length of the wall before coming across a rocky ledge that revealed not just a lionfish, but two lobster antennae poking out! I locked the rubber band into my thumb, pulled back on the spear, then released it. It went straight into a rock with a "ping!", assuring the fish there was no danger from this rookie. Surprisingly, the lionfish did not move, so I reloaded, took better aim, and shot my spear straight through his body. The lobster seemed interested in this development and exposed his beautiful self for a shot so I shook the lionfish off, who gently swam away a few feet, not realizing he had just been mortally wounded, then took aim at the lobster and shot. The spear simply bounced off its Spiny Caribbean Lobster head and it retreated hastily into the safe space beneath the rocks, out of reach. As this was my first lobster hunt, I really didn’t know what I was doing, so I tried pulling him out by the antennae, coaxing him out with the wounded lionfish, whistling underwater, doing the “come hither” motion with my index finger, but I could not get him out. As I was about to give up, he appeared. I tried to grab him with my hand and he took off flicking his tail, scurrying backwards. I followed him, tried jamming the spear into his head, shot at it a couple more times to no effect, then kept on him as he moved into deeper and deeper water. As I was floating, pondering my next move, I looked down to see another lobster sticking out of a hole, half exposed, and not nearly as freaked out as the one I’d been chasing, so I dove down and pinged my spear off its head to no effect (I am a slow learner). The first lobster gave me the slip as I was now fully focused on this one. I tried and tried but just could not get him, and the first one was long gone so I was devastated. I might have cried a little bit in my mask, but the tears just mixed in with the ocean water caught in there so you probably couldn’t tell.

After twenty minutes trying to extract the second loster, I was about to give up when the first lobster suddenly appeared in my peripheral vision. I gave it one last try, aiming at his tail. The spear went right through it and I pulled him up. Success! I swam with my first lobster kill back to the dinghy, dropped it into the bucket, put on my lobstering gloves (which I had forgotten on the first go-round) and went back in, emboldened with my success and now knowing what to look for. I almost immediately spotted another one, antennae sticking out from beneath a rock ledge. I tried pulling him out with my gloves, but this ledge was deeper and it disappeared from view. After surfacing for a fresh breath, I went back down and stuck my head right into the space, saw a few little fish, and the end of an antennae, way back. It was unreachable. I went back up to the surface to ponder my next move and looked down to see a big fat blue and white eel pop its scary head out from a rock just beside where my face had previously been. Eel was not on the menu, and I didn’t want my finger or lips to be on its menu, so I got back into the dinghy and moved it over to the first spot with the lobster in the hole, and worked that one again for a while, in the process ripping off half of one of its antennae as I tried to extract it from its hiding spot. I felt terrible and had to abandon the mission. I also tried to locate the wounded lionfish and found the spot where I had left him but he was nowhere to be found.

I returned to the boat with my victory lobster and a smile a mile wide. Ana gave me a hero’s welcome, then informed me that while I was gone, they had done a deep cleaning on the inside of the boat, removing all the nasty moisture from the past couple of days. After depositing the lobster in the kitchen sink, I took the bucket and helped Ana clean the outside deck of the boat. SeaLight was looking good again.

After the work was done, I turned my attention to the lobster, and with Stella’s internet research and guidance, I twisted the tail right off, cut through the shell, then removed the anal vein and had a lovely, large chunk of lobster meat which we slathered with a mixture of butter, garlic, pepper, and fresh lime, then broiled in the oven for fifteen minutes. I presented the lobster appetizer, on a plate, cut into pieces, with four forks. The crew loved it.

To make a good day even better, the girls offered to make supper, so Ana and I sat back as they prepared a delicious pasta and meat sauce dish, then we enjoyed a nice dinner in the cabin to the sounds of the girls’ playlist and the water sloshing against the hull.

Another fine day in the Exumas.

Exploring Black Point - Barracuda Scare, Woman Overboard, Water Hauling, Blowholes, and Lobster Negotiation

Black Point – 7 nautical miles sailed, 1 kilometre walked, 3 miles in dinghy, several metres snorkelled

I don’t know what happened with the Bahamian climate last night, but it somehow rained everywhere, all at once, without raining. It was as if the air released all its moisture, like a squeezed sponge. Despite having closed up all the panels in the cockpit, the cushions and pillows were drenched. Good thing Magnus wasn’t still with us sleeping out there, as he would have had a very soggy evening.

We pulled anchor and left Staniel Cay shortly after 7 am. It was a bright morning, with a decent breeze blowing from the southeast, the direction we were headed. We decided to take the Exuma Sound route, which is the outside and normally less sheltered path, but the wind direction today ran parallel to the Exumas, making it neither better nor worse. We motored between the islands of the Grotto, northwards for a bit, then turned east and through the Big Rock Cut, which was boiling with tidal current, so we did not move fast. Once in the ocean we turned southeast and were on our way. I pulled out our fishing hand line, attached the wooden plug I picked up in Fort Lauderdale, and tossed it out back then secured the end of it to a cleat. The line was thick monofilament, likely 300 lb test, with a rubber snubber at the end to absorb the impact of a big fish strike. Well, I trolled that thing for six miles, all the way to Dotham Cut, but did not get any action. Still, it was nice to test it out for the first time, and we’ll be doing more of this.

We motored into the cut, around a point of land, and dropped the hook in the expansive anchorage at Black Point Harbour. First order of business? Water. We had extinguished our first full tank of water last night, the 70 gallons of which had lasted five days – a usage rate of 3.5 gallons (13.5 litres) per person per day, which seemed neither frugal nor excessive. The Noforeignland app showed a water source just across the bay from us, so I emptied our spare jugs into the tank then Ana and I took off in the dinghy to find it. The bay was very shallow, but we were able to motor across most of it and only had to lift the engine for the last part.

We beached the dinghy, walked up a path to the road, and saw two other cruisers across the street in the cemetery – a good sign. We walked over to find a black pipe with a valve, simply sticking out of the ground at the edge of the cemetery. The couple were from Montreal and we chatted for a while. They had been using this water and said the quality was excellent. I stuck the hose into one of our jugs, opened the valve and a violent torrent of clean, fresh water shot out, filing the 6 gallon jug in under 20 seconds.

“That’s like a Montreal firehouse!” I exclaimed, giddy with joy.

After two additional trips, our boat tanks were full, my arms were lengthened, and my vertebrae compressed, so Ana and I celebrated with a zero-gravity ocean swim and shampoo then we gathered up the girls to explore Black Point. We stopped first at the water point, as the Quebeccers had told us there was a blue hole nearby, so we walked a short distance and found something, but I think “blue hole” got lost in translation, as it was actually a blow hole, and quite neat as it gurgled then shot out water whenever a large ocean surge rolled in. Here the girls found a couple of hermit crabs, and Anna also captured a small lizard in her hands, which escaped and ran up the length of her arm before being flung a great air distance into a rock pile.

We rode the dinghy along the shoreline into the nearby settlement and tied up at the government dock, surprised to see nurse sharks and stingrays just beneath us, hoping for a fish gut snack. A road from the dock led into town, and we noticed another free water tap, with a cruiser there filling up a blue jug. Further on we found a small but surprisingly well stocked grocery store where we bought two blackened and fully ripe plantains and a stick of deodorant from the lovely lady working there. A few doors down we found what is considered to be the best laundromat in the Caribbean (but closed on Sundays) and a place that looked like an internet café, but upon closer inspection was a sports betting venue. Ana and the girls were in search of wifi to get Stella’s replacement phone set up (we’d given up hope on her old one), so they spoke to the person working there and she asked them to return in an hour or so and she’d give them the wifi password and use of chairs and a desk in the air-conditioned facility.

The next order of business was an afternoon drink at Lorraine’s Café, situated high on a deck overlooking the ocean. It was a lovely spot, made better by the two resident cats who stretched, lingered, and napped on the deck as we enjoyed our cold drinks and watched the boats coming and going. As we were leaving, two fisherman pulled up with a boatful of catch and they began tossing dozens of plump snapper onto the rocks, plus a bunch of sizeable conch, all of which were for sale.

We decided to return to the boat and as we reached the government dock we found another two fisherman tied up and tallying their catch. These gents had fresh lobsters, and lots of them. I chatted with the captain for a while and he told me the lobsters were typically down about 25 feet and you wouldn’t find them anywhere in the shallows. They catch them by diving down and spearing them or just pulling them out of the crevices. But like a good fisherman, he didn’t offer up any specific locations. I asked him how much for the lobsters.

“Depends on the size,” he said as he tossed another giant lobster onto the growing pile on the dock.

“Well, we’d need enough to feed the four of us,” I replied, pointing to my crew.

“Depends on how much they eat,” he said.

“Well, take a look at them,” I said as I pointed to the skinny 18-year-olds. “Not much.”

“Two large ones would be enough,” he said.

“How much would those cost?” I said, trying to pry out information. The captain looked at the first mate, who looked at us, then the pile of lobster, then said, “Forty.”

“Forty for both?” I asked.

“Each.”

Well my quick mental arithmetic gave me a total of 80 Bahamian/American dollars which translated into $120 Canadian, which was not the bargain we were hoping for. We passed on the offer, hoping the mate would come chasing after us with a reduced price, but they simply continued what they were doing. Lobsters are a hot commodity here, so I guess I'd have to find my own.

Back at SeaLight I decided to go snorkeling while the ladies killed flies in the cabin. We had not seen a housefly in weeks, maybe months, but this anchorage was inexplicably swarming with them, and they had infiltrated the boat. The ladies armed themselves with fly swatters, rolled-up magazines, and even a vacuum, then commenced the slaughter.

The ocean bottom was clear sand with little structure and not likely much to see, so I began swimming the decently long distance towards land hoping to find some coral. As I was halfway there I noticed a big barracuda ahead of me. Then another. A whole line of them. I’d never seen these fish in groups before, normally it’s a singleton prowling the water. I stopped my forward progress and looked back towards the boat. A chill shot down my spine as a saw a line of barracuda there too, surrounding me, pretending not to notice me but glancing over frequently, sizing me up. Now I was getting worried. I was relieved that I had taken off my chain and rings before coming in the water as these tend to attract barracuda aggression, but was feeling very much like a school of edible fish and I had a feeling they were thinking the same thing. I started fanning myself backwards using my hands but keeping my movements to a minimum. I then turned and swam slowly towards the boat, kicking gently. As I did this, the flanking barracudas now in front of me parted, and gave me a path forward. I kept my neck craned backwards and watched them as they slowly disappeared from view. The ocean is not a lake.

I called the snorkelling quits as the girls were nearly ready to go back into town to work on Stella’s phone. Stella and Anna got into the dinghy safely, which was bouncing around with the swells, but when Ana stepped onto it, a wave came through, pushed it over, and she lost her footing and fell into the water. She bounced back up immediately holding her bag in the air saying, “Grab my phone!!” I took it and threw it on the table then made sure she was okay and had a good hold on the boat ladder. I then opened the bag and found only a small bit of water had penetrated it. What we did not need were two dead phones, but it seemed disaster was averted and the only casualty was a soggy wife and a salty, wet dress. Anna saw Ana’s watch balancing precariously on the edge of the boat so I grabbed that, then Stella spotted Ana’s sunglasses on the bottom so I dove down and grabbed those too.

Somehow Ana was back in five minutes, with fresh clothes, lovely hair, and looked as ravishing as she did before, so it really made me wonder how that process typically takes 90 minutes at home. I didn’t ponder that thought for long, preferring to keep the weird and wonderful world of women an enduring mystery.

With Stella's replacement phone fully configured, and a happier Stella, we finished the day with a delicious dinner of Portuguese chops, fried sweet plantain, rice, and salad then watched a creepy horror movie (Talk To Me) together in the cabin. I surprised myself by staying awake for more than half of it.

A Dead Phone, A Goombay Smash, A Happy Hour, A Fine Cigar

Staniel Cay – 2 kilometres walked, 1 miles in dinghy, several metres snorkelled

I lay on my back on the SeaLight’s deck with a fine Robusto cigar, a skinny rum and cola, and a blanket of stars to ponder. I can hear the girls down below working on Stella’s waterlogged iPhone, with Gipsy Kings singing in the background. Every few minutes a shriek of laughter echos across the water from the Staniel Cay Yacht Club. It is an excessively moist evening and water droplets hang off everything – the lifelines, the shrouds, the spreaders, the cabin deck itself. I smoke my cigar, enjoying the calm and tranquility, dosed by the nicotine drug, which I partake in infrequently enough to keep it significant. It brings soothing thoughts. How much I love my children. How much I love my wife. The incredible people we keep meeting. And how absurdly fortunate we are to be here, in this place, right now.

It had been an interesting day.

Stella and I began with an early morning visit to the Grotto, at the more challenging high tide. It was even better than yesterday as the sun shone directly into the holes on top of the rock ceiling, decorating the resident fish with sunlight, drawing out their brilliant colours. The gaps in the rock yesterday were now covered by water, making the cave smaller and closer, more intimate. Stella had secured her iPhone in a waterproof case and took dozens of photos of the fish, the cavern, and us beneath the water frolicking with the marine life. There were others in the Grotto with us for a while then we were all alone, a perfect moment.

The high tide did have its challenges, especially as the tidal current was still flowing and even stronger when we tried to leave. With the high tide we had to swim beneath the rocks, and the passage out was tough as the current was raging and it took everything we had to swim against it. I made it out first then grabbed a rock ledge to brace myself and turned to watch Stella. Her fin got caught in a rope and she stopped, then started to panic, but was able to kick herself loose. I reached in and gave her a pull to help her out and she made it okay. But it was a tough swim back to the dinghy through the current, which was anchored further away than yesterday, and by the time we reached it we were both exhausted.

Back at SeaLight, Stella removed her iPhone to find it soaked with seawater, despite our previous test of the case’s waterproofing with tissue paper. Ana rinsed it with freshwater, as per the online instructions for recovery, then used a hairdryer on it. As this operation was underway we also decided to defrost the freezing section of the small refrigerator as the contents had melded into a single mass of immovable and impenetrable ice, pork, chicken, ground beef, and sausages.

We took a break from those fun activities for a visit to town. After a kind, one-armed Bahamian man in a truck relieved me of the garbage bag I was carrying (saving me a mile-long trek to the dump), we walked to the General Store which was well stocked with groceries and had a surprisingly large collection of marine supplies - the important ones like plumbing fittings, connectors, marine wire, nuts, bolts, and screws. We picked up a few things, then continued our exploratory walk to the airport, and popped into the adjacent art gallery and store, then continued onto the Flying Pig Café which was located within the Embrace Resort, a nice place with cute rooms and a small pool. At the café we ordered our drinks then sat down in the air conditioned area, which was a nice break from the 25 degrees and full sunshine outside. Ana sipped her coffee and smiled. I had a slug of my Kalik and smiled. Anna took a drink of her Coke and smiled. Stella eyed her drink suspiciously, had a sip, pulled an ugly face and said, “Dad, try this. Does it taste boozy to you?”

I had a sip. Oh yeah, it was boozy all right.

“Hey,” I said to the proprietor. “What’s in this drink?”

“It’s a Goombay Smash,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You ordered a Goombay Smash?” I asked Stella. “Bit early for a cocktail, don’t you think?”

“I just ordered a Goombay. It’s supposed to be soda or juice or something.”

The server rushed over a can of Goombay pop. Stella slid her drink over to me. “You can have the Smash, Dad.” She knew I wouldn’t let a good drink go to waste.

We enjoyed our drinks to the sounds of the fine Bruno Mars setlist playing loudly on the television then continued our journey. We walked the dirt road, spotting lizards, eyeballing the white mansion in the distance, and stopped at a very new-looking playground that was already overcome with weeds, very strange. By then we had covered most of the island so went back to the yacht club to visit the nurse sharks. A two-armed Bahamian man at the fish cleaning station showed us a trick. He started banging a piece of wood on the fish cleaning table and the nurse sharks swarmed in from everywhere, looking for treats! He said it was safe to touch them so I walked down the stairs and ran my hands down the rough skin of a few of them as they swam by. When they realized I did not have a fish offering for them, they buggered off.

We returned to the boat to finish off the fridge project and try to power up Stella’s phone, which failed, then returned to the yacht club for the 4 – 6pm happy hour featuring three Sands beers for twelve bucks, best deal on the island. We tried to cheer Stella up as her mood had soured after realizing the 8,000 photos she had on her phone (not backed up), might be goners.  But Ana did have a spare iPhone she had brought along in the case of an emergency just like this, so at least she would have something for communication. Stella and Anna played another game of pool while Ana and I chatted and watched the crowd, wondering how many billionaires and celebrities had sat in these seats over the decades. There is little doubt Jimmy Buffett had been here many times over the years, and probably came up with a few song ideas through a haze of beer, tequila shots, and cigarette smoke. We had a lot of fun and relished this moment, in this most iconic of Caribbean locations, the Staniel Cay Yacht Club.

On the way back to SeaLight we stopped at White Seal to say goodbye to Malakei, Mary, and Michael as we planned to leave the next day and they were sticking around. I had no doubt we’d be seeing White Seal further along the route in later days.

Which brings me back to my cigar. Just as I had smoked it down to the nub, Ben and Kate paddled over for a drink and chat and to say goodbye as they were going to hang in Staniel a while longer. We had another excellent visit, but I started getting tired so had to wander the boat for a while, and joined the girls in the cabin watching a horror movie for a bit. Shortly after that we wrapped up the evening and retired to our respective boats, but sure to meet again soon…somewhere.

Staniel Cay, Thunderball Grotto, Baby Sharks, and Fresh Bread

Staniel Cay – 1 kilometre walked, 3 miles in dinghy, 2 miles paddled, several metres snorkelled

I was awoken by the wail of a squawking rooster. This doesn’t happen frequently at anchor in the ocean.

It had been many days or perhaps weeks since I’d last used our paddleboard so I took advantage of the light winds, slight current, and sunny early morning to go for a ride. Despite the dozens of boats, the anchorage was quiet and still and I saw no people as I paddled towards Pig Beach (and spotted the offending roosters) then along the shoreline. A disturbance on the water surface caught my attention - a flying fish, the first I’d seen. I also saw many starfish lying on the bottom, then a stingray, then a nurse shark. I did a great loop around the anchorage, about 2 miles, and by the time I returned to SeaLight my triceps and back were groaning.

Once the ladies were up and ready we took the dinghy into Pig Beach, where there was already one other boat there, and a few pigs swimming around in the water. As we approached the shoreline we were surprised by the number of pigs on the beach, and the bulk of some of them. One swam up to the dinghy, with his two perfectly round nose holes above the water, drawing air. Stella had a bag of small carrots and tossed one his way but he seemed unable to see it and instead just kept following us around. We could see there were baby piglets on the beach so I brought the dinghy in for a closer look.

Bad idea.

As the bow of the dinghy touched the shoreline we were swarmed by the famous swimming pigs of Exuma, looking for handouts. One big one thrust his sandy head and drippy mouth into the boat and grabbed the bag of carrots from Stella’s hand. Another held his mouth wide open, yellowed teeth and pallid pink tonsils exposed, waiting for a snack. One Anna screamed and the other Ana yelled. I punched the engine into reverse and skeedaddled away from the voracious pig scrum. It was then I noticed a large sign on the beach warning, “Feed pigs from your boat only. Do not go to shore. The pigs bite.”

Were the pigs cute? I’d say no. They were not the fat little pink ones we see at home; no, they were more like wild boars, with coarse long hair, long faces, spoke in deep grunts, and some had curved tusks. The little ones were cute, but we couldn’t get close enough for a good look. But seeing the pigs in their unnatural habitat was certainly an experience.

From here we dinghy’d into the Staniel Cay Yacht Club, which took a very long time, so I decided to return to the boat and move it in closer to the Thunderball Anchorage, which was right next to the Grotto and near the village. By the time I returned to shore, the girls had already walked the island and were on the dock watching the many nurse sharks clustered near the fish cleaning station, with some of the other cruisers actually sitting in the water trying to pet them. As we watched, two baby nurse sharks appeared and we involuntarily started singing the song. How often in life do you get to sing Baby Shark when there’s actually a baby shark in front of you.

Ana took me on a guided tour of the island while the girls went into the yacht club to play pool. The community itself has a population of just over a hundred permanent residents and was established in 1783 with the Staniel Cay Yacht Club commencing operations in 1956. Outside the property lines of the finely groomed yacht club we found all the signs of an economically-challenged community – severely weathered homes, dull grey cinderblocks lying haphazardly in yards and on the roadside, wind-swept garbage gathered in groves of bushes, dented and beaten vehicles and golf carts, stray dogs, flickering power, corn struggling to grow in front yards, and shades of rust everywhere. The only evidence of prosperity were the fancy yachts on the docks at the yacht club and some well-kept tourist cabins and bungalows nestled into the areas with ocean views, reserved for those of privilege and means. There were a number of shops – two small grocery stores (one pink, one blue), a dive shop, a clothing shop, two restaurants, a water station, and another larger general store we didn’t get to (have to save something for tomorrow).

The yacht club looked to be the center of activity on the island and was open to all. I wandered through the building to look at the decades old framed photographs of huge fish catches, parties, locals in school uniform, family photos, images from the crew of a 007 movie Thunderball, filmed here in the 60’s. Hung from the ceiling were dozens of pennants, some for sports teams, some custom, brought by visiting boaters. There was a separate dining room, with molding oak crown moulding and a dinner menu with prices that brought tears to one’s eyes. The giant wooden wrap-around bar whispered secret tales of romances sparked, cash exchanged, alcohol-fueled arguments, lies told, truths revealed. The girls played pool, dropping balls infrequently, while Ana and I relaxed on comfy chairs, scanning our surroundings. This was a cool place.

We returned to the boat and had lunch. I made myself a conch salad from our recent catch and the girls had grilled-cheese sandwiches crafted with fresh bread bought from a kind local at the roadside table bakery only an hour before. Post lunch plans to snorkel were telepathically scrapped in favour of cockpit and cabin naps.

I woke up sometime later to find Waddington anchored close to us, so I splashed some water on my face and rowed over for a visit and a sampling of some delicious local rum Ben and Kate had picked up in Rock Sound, Eleuthera. As it was nearing the end of the day, I returned to the boat and gathered the girls and snorkeling gear for a late afternoon, slack tide visit to Thunderball Grotto.

The Grotto is a mushroom shaped island that can be accessed most easily at low tide by swimming through one of the various holes in the rock at the waterline. Upon entering, you find yourself in a marine wonderland with hundreds of colourful fishes around you, looking for a handout. The water is 15 to 20 feet deep, clear, and you look up to see a huge rock dome above you, with holes far above allowing sunlight into the secret cave. We brought saltine crackers and bread chunks and fed the fishes while Ben recorded the feeding frenzy on a phone in a waterproof case. We swam in the cave for a while, then Stella and I went out the other side and found a huge coral reef, full of fishes, just outside the island. We hadn’t timed the tide quite right so there was still a bit of a current we had to fight through to get back into the cave. Anna had decided to stay in the dingy, wrapped in a towel, not entirely comfortable with swimming into a dark cave, but we’re hoping she might give it a try tomorrow.

Ben and Kate came over for a long overdue sundowner and we sat together for hours in SeaLight’s cockpit trading stories and listening to music as darkness fell, the strong south winds gathered strength, and the boat bounced and swung in the waves.

Exploring Shroud Cay and Onwards to Staniel Cay for a Birthday Party

Shroud Cay to Staniel Cay – 31 nautical miles sailed, 7 miles in dinghy

When I arrived by dinghy at sailing vessel Waddington at 7:30 am, Ben was in the cockpit, shirtless with his wavy blonde hair sticking up in strange ways and Kate was staggering slightly, wiping sleep nuggets from her eyes.

“Good morning Waddington!” I announced. It was great to see them again.

I passed over the generator we had picked up for them in Florida then hopped aboard for a visit and we caught up on each others’ news. Somehow the previous afternoon when I was out for my exploratory dinghy ride, I had whizzed by them and not noticed their boat, wasting an opportunity for afternoon rum drinking.

Ben and Kate got ready and moved their boat closer to ours then we all left in the dinghies to explore the mangrove streams, timing it perfectly as it was nearing high tide which would give us a nice little push up the channels into the interior of the island. A series of tidal channels run into and right through Shroud Cay and we travelled up one of them all the way to a beach on the other side of the island, where we had to hand tow the dinghies in for the last bit that became too shallow to navigate. The channel was quite narrow, maybe four feet deep, invisible clear, bordered by thick mangroves with their finger-like roots grasping into the bottom, and home to many turtles – we spotted three of them.

After exploring the beach we backtracked and found another channel which led to the Washing Machine – a narrow channel with a heavy current running out to the ocean, which you can ride through then get popped out the other side and pulled to safety by eddy currents, or by just walking through the shallow water to the shore. Ben, Kate, and I gave it a try, and we enjoyed the solitude as we were the only people there…but soon another dinghy arrived, a very fancy one, being driven by what were surely superyacht staff, and the four passengers were inexplicably wearing bright yellow Helly Hansen survival suits, like they had just arrived from a Arctic expedition. They had a look then immediately turned and left. But minutes afterward, a different dinghy arrived, then another, then another, and soon the dinks were lined up on the beach and people were flinging themselves into the washing machine. It was fun.

We made a plan to rendezvous with Ben and Kate tomorrow and made our way back to the boat then pulled anchor and set sail for Staniel Cay, which is the sailing hub for the central Exumas. It was a lovely 31 mile run with the headsail catching full wind, sun bright and high in the sky after the thick layer of morning clouds had burned off, and some wonderful moments making custom birthday cards for our friend Mary’s 30th birthday, then sitting on the top deck watching the patterns of sea grass and coral on the bottom as we whizzed through less then twelve feet of water much of the way.

Because we arrived at low tide, we couldn’t get through the shallow waters leading to the area near Staniel Cay Yacht Club, where Malekai and Mary on White Seal were anchored, so instead we dropped the hook around the corner near Pig Beach, home to the famous swimming pigs of the Exumas. I went for an ocean bath, then grabbed the goggles to have a look around. What did I see but a big reef shark, off our bow, swimming rapidly across the bottom, kicking up clouds of silt in his path, hurrying as if late for an appointment. After dinner, as I was getting ready to pick up the crew of White Seal for birthday drinks, Ana spotted a nurse shark circling our dinghy, and we all had a good look at it.

I picked up Mary, Malekei, and Malekei’s dad Michael, who had just arrived from Indiana in the afternoon and brought them back to SeaLight for a birthday party. Ana had put together a charcuterie board, I poured some rum and colas, and we sat and chatted in the cockpit as the birthday playlist Stella and Anna had crafted played in the background. We gave Mary her four birthday cards and a present – a sailing novel wrapped in pages torn from an unused section of the ICW Cruising Guide. She seemed to love it all.

After a 2am start to his day, Michael was losing steam so I ran the White Seal crew back to their boat beneath a bright full moon, flanked by dozens of shimmering anchor lights in the bay, aligned like constellations from a distant galaxy.