We are becoming professionals at this.
Masked, dinghy bound, box toting professionals.
It all begins with grocery wish-list emails
to a supermarket in far off Nassau. Maybe they’ll have avocados?! Cherry
tomatoes? We dare to dream… WhatsApp photo messages of food items follow with accompanying text “Is this what you want?”
and “We only have this brand” etc… Days
later, our relative peace is interrupted. There is a palpable frenzy amongst
the small tribe of boaters in the anchorages… the mailboat is on his way!
Then the chain of events unfolds in starts
and spurts. Rumours, actual second hand info on VHF radio, WhatsApp messages
with a few local ‘contacts’, sometimes I get a voice message from the Captain
himself! Then I’m really at the epicenter of life here!
And then, either on the expected day, or
perhaps a day before or two days or a week later, someone spots the huge blue
metal ship that makes it’s way down to this remote island chain from Nassau weekly,
or nearly weekly, or whenever he’s not encumbered by storms or faulty engine
parts.
When he does arrive, the boats lift anchor,
leaving our favourite beach front spots and make their way around to Gun Point,
the one port in the Ragged Islands, on the only inhabited island, where the 30
or so fishermen who live here eagerly await their provisions, fuel, alcohol,
propane and other goodies along with us boaters.
This is our 10th week in the
Ragged Islands and about the 6th week living under Bahamas Emergency
orders. Some boaters in the world found themselves adrift when Covid-19 spread
and countries began closing borders. Some were asked to leave their host
countries. We have been so lucky.
The Bahamas has literally shut down and
their number one industry, tourism has understandably come to a grinding halt.
The annual cruiser population, those of us that have not fled to America, make
up the small remaining foreign population. We have been told that we must
adhere strictly to the lockdown and that there will be no medical services for
foreigners ashore, under any circumstances. This was a tough one for many.
Those of us who stayed are taking that risk.
The pay off for us, down in the most remote
part of this island chain, is a day to day life literally unencumbered by
Coronavirus. The beaches here line many uninhabited islands. There are rough
trails cut through and across many of them. The reefs are still teeming with
coral and pretty fish, the blue blue water is still warm and inviting. There are shells and sea glass to hunt and collect, and fish to catch for supper! Each night brings a breathtaking sunset...
The
tribe has organised parties here for birthdays and anniversaries and is now
even looking to ‘secure’ some of the local wild roaming goats for a beach curry
day.
We all have desalinating water makers, we
hand wash clothes (and towels and sheets! Ugggh), and gather power from the sun
via solar panels and small portable generators.
It’s quite easy to ‘shelter in place’ now
that we have developed from nothing, a system that meets all our daily needs.
The only exposure we have beyond the finite group of us boaters is the weekly
mailboat encounter. Hence the masks and box washing…
We have been given visa extensions online.
There is no need to leave our paradise.
Except for the elephant in the distance.
Hurricane season is now imminent. The calm,
sunny, peaceful weather days are now spotted with rain and crazy wind systems
and the inevitable thunder and lightning storms. They foreshadow how vulnerable
we really are out here, hiding behind islands that are so small you need to
zoom in on a map or chart.
In the big scheme of things, we could be in
trouble. We will need to leave soon, to start heading north or south. We had
hoped to make it down to Grenada this year. It sits just below the hurricane
belt and it’s a great place to stay onboard for the year.
But getting there involves a lot of stops
down the Leeward and Windward islands. The joy is in the journey! We wouldn’t
want to sail past the British Virgin Islands without stopping for a few weeks
to see Dev, our son, the capable Moorings captain. We wouldn’t want to sail
past Guadeloupe with it’s fresh baguettes and chocolate crossaints and wine and
cheese! I mean really?!
But the virus has forced most of these
countries to close their borders. And if and when they open, it will most
likely be too late to head that direction with the prevailing trade winds
kicking up…
So as we sit under the thatch roof of the
Hog Cay Yacht Club, cold beer in hand, sand between the toes, we contemplate
our insecure future.
As a full time live-aboard sailor, life is
by nature unplanned and insecure. And weather has always been our master. It
has ruled our movements every season. This year however, with Coronavirus in
the mix, we are up against something new. We don’t like our freedoms curtailed.
But when there are no flights, countries are closed, the virus is spreading
hard and fast in the states, we are left with a very small set of options.
But for now, for today, the mailboat has
arrived. Fridge is full. Beer is cold. Beach is calling…
