I’m squinting at the tiny mangrove roots, marveling that
they push up through the mushy white sand. Sun bakes my dry corn-husk hair and
exposed limbs. The tide is rapidly flowing out through rivers to the sea,
leaving our dinghy exposed on the ever growing beach. We are like castaways.
Salt caked and leather brown. Our small bottle of water is empty.
JW and I sit in silence in the sand on this uninhabited
island in the Exumas. Tiny resilient seeds and crispy dry leaves whisper as
they tumble along the sand, at home in this harsh environment. The only other
sounds are far off airplanes and distant speed boats. They try to encroach, to remind
us that this reality is small and confined. But it’s ours. And it is wild and it’s
free.
It could be a Saturday or a Tuesday. Shiloh is anchored out
in the unprotected bay, a huge ocean swell slapping her from side to side.
We’ve escaped to the shore for some peace from the incessant rolling.
We’ve been in the Exumas for 6 weeks. We left the last town
two weeks ago. The last ‘proper’ grocery store about 4 weeks ago. We’ve run out
of beers and cokes and snacks. Same with eggs and bread. Haven’t seen a fresh
vegetable in a while. We are in the land of the scarce.
The Bahamas Telecom network forgot about the northern Exumas
as well. But we’ve managed to devise a makeshift system for getting an Internet
signal once every few days. Our iphone is double wrapped in ziplock bags, then
tied to a keychain float and hoisted up the mast. If we are lucky it finds weak
reception and we scramble to answer emails, check in on facebook. Say hello to
the real world. And then we sink back into the salty, sun soaked world of
islands we love so much.
This is the land of shifting sand that creates works of art
daily. Swirls of electric turquoise, emerald green, soft teal, creamy beige.
And if you can hike to any vantage point above, the rewards are awe and
amazement and a humbling so profound. It floors me daily. This is natural
beauty unmatched. White tropic birds with their long ribbon tails swirl above,
turning blue over the water with the reflection of the sea, and back to white
over land.
Each island offers something unique – hikes to ancient
ruins, bubbling pools to play in between the ocean and rocks.
Earlier today we took kayaks and the SUP and paddled a dense
and still mangrove river out to the ocean on an outgoing tide.
Some days the silence is broken – pierced by the wild
whirling jet skis of the mega yacht crowd. From any shoreline you might see,
anchored out in the deeper waters, a colossal white or silver multi-million
dollar, crew-run floating funhouse for the rich. In this place where nature is
king and money is useless, it is a jarring sight. And the huge tenders with
their massive outboard engines cut through the waters with disregard, shuttling
the privileged owners and guests to-and-fro. Some take over a beach with
elaborate umbrella systems, blankets, baskets, neon pink and green beach toys
that bob around at the water’s edge, claiming their territory.
Today it is a convoy of power boats, here to break the
silence. Down from Nassau for the weekend; kids, beers, bright toys. The
breathtaking beach at the end of the mangrove river is overtaken by bikinis and
bellies and exuberant chatter. The decibel level is too high for us. We haven’t
been in a crowd forever it seems.
They are friendly enough, one guy in a Blue Jays baseball
cap sipping a Labatt Blue he’s brought all the way from Canada. “It’s snowing
back home!” he tells me, as his little pink two year old, clad in full body
sun-shade armour and a wide brimmed hat that covers his whole face, plays
happily in the sand. I can barely hear him. My mind does not compute. Snow?
Holiday makers with Canadian beer? It seems absurd. I thought we were castaways
in our own little world. I think I wished it so.
But this world, free and wild as it is, must be shared. It
must come to an end even for us. One day soon our canned goods will run out
too. We will need to make a bank transfer or talk on a phone. My backpack/purse
will have to be transformed from a sandy vessel for water, sea shells and sun
block, to wallets and cell phones. The real world will call to us and we will
have to answer.
But for now intense sun. Salt. Sand. Silence.
