Storms and the scareceness of salads: the payoffs of cruising the Bahamas

Veggie day eventually arrived. Not on the day we planned it, nor in the way we imagined it however.

We did TRY to sail down there like the valiant pirates we imagined ourselves! But Mother Nature decided to put these wayward scallywags in check. We did lift anchor and head toward the mouth of the bay with Alleycat leading the way. However, wind and waves were unexpectedly wild and threw them around. Like a pendulum in a rush, their mast rocked forward and back as the crew and boat fought all the elements.

Quick VHF radio call and an unanimous decision. Without leaving our safe harbour, we made a 180 degree turn back to calm and safety. We admitted defeat. But we hadn’t forgotten those veggies! We resolved to rent a car instead. Only no cars were available that day and the next day was Sunday, and guess what? The legendary veggie place was CLOSED ON SUNDAYS.

We rented the car Sunday. Only by then, the rough weather outside our bay had made it’s way in. The boats rocked incessantly, things rolled around, morale was tense. Waves crashed ashore making the dinghy landing a bit difficult and involved salty limbs and perhaps a swear word or two.

Luckily the renting went much more smoothly. Called a number I found online, met Kitra in a parking lot, she took $70 cash, had a look at our driver’s licenses and sent us on our way! Off to explore the rest of Eleuthera - we could visit veggie heaven Monday morning before returning our car.

Found an open beach side café and marveled at the beauty and power of nature. We watched the wild waves slam their front tables as we waited for the one waitress to make her way over. It took a while. A loooong while. There was no urgency in her movements. Her pants were working overtime trying to accommodate a frame that had outgrown them a while ago. They seemed to groan under the pressure. We groaned as well… ‘Pleeeeease can we have a menu? A beer maybe even?’ 

She served the one other table of needy tourists and saw us. And her smile flipped a switch on our irritability. Now we were mesmerized by her two toned red eyes. We forgot what we wanted. It was like alien zombie movie stuff. But she was nice enough and finally brought us some cool beers and left us with menus. We decided her eyes were some funky coloured contact lenses, left over from a Halloween surplus? We weren’t in danger of a zombie apocalypse. But we did discover they were out of the majority of foods on the menu. Burgers and fries and wings it is then!!! In the end, she only forgot one of the four food orders. Eventually, with full bellies, we thanked our red eyed server and headed onward.

To the Queen’s Baths. A rough roadside sign, a forest walk, a climb over some jagged rocks, revealed a place of breathtaking beauty. Huge pools of turquoise water, protected from the crashing waves of the ocean, inviting the curious to wade and watch as the tide slowly came in and made the spectacle more beautiful and more dangerous. We took full advantage. 

 And there were beautiful windward beaches to walk, with countless old wrecks to contrive elaborate stories of adventure and demise... it was a full day!

Back in our bay, the boats still rolled around and we dreaded returning. We parked the car and braved the evening aboard. Bruised hips notwithstanding, we made it through til 10 pm without a hitch. And then we happened to pause our TV show, check the weather Apps and saw the green and red monster heading our way fast. We called Alleycat, the boys decided to hoist up the dinghies just in case. And then it all just came rushing at us. The boats swung around, wind whipping up, storm clouds, thunder, lightning, rain pelting. We went from lying around on the couch, to soaked, adrenaline pumping, engines running, alert and ready for the onslaught within less than 10 minutes. The boat had changed direction and swung us into the shallows, with the concrete city was too close for comfort behind us. The boat pounded and lifted with each wave and then we realised we were in REALLY shallow water. The boat would soon be slamming the ground in these waves. We’d have to reanchor in the huge winds, huge waves, sheets of rain, pitch darkness.

Blinking and spitting at the rain, stomach in knots, shivering, I watched John trying to keep his balance at the front of the bucking boat. We managed. We resigned ourselves to our cold wet state and got to the task at hand. And we got out of immediate danger. By 1 am we were sipping chamomile tea, my feet in my Walmart slippers, trying to lull ourselves into calmness so we could attempt sleep.

And we woke on Monday morning, Shiloh creaking and rocking and begging for reprieve from the side slam of waves. But it wasn’t to be. And we had to get back to shore. The veggies awaited!!!

An hour later, we’d managed the wet and rough dinghy landing and had driven down to Palmetto Point, eyes peeled for the road side sign we’d seen online. And then it came into view. ‘There it is!!!!’ I poked at the air and tried to stay calm.

It was beyond anticlimactic. A shady yard with big empty wooden tables barely managed a welcome. No one in sight. The promise of a hot coffee immediately deflated. The coffee machines were all dusty and cold. There were a few jars of jams and hot sauces. The fridges held some unlabeled containers. And then there were the veggies. Old, wrinkly peppers, green, red and yellow, told us this was not the day. Nothing new here. We’ve been here a while. We’ve seen our peak and now we are on our last days.

To it’s credit, the market had some fresh homegrown lettuce and herbs. We bought them up in utter desperation. We HAD TO find something to buy. I found a lady crouched between boxes of wine to ask about the containers. She was busy. How could she know the importance of this day, this very moment for us?! “Bring them to me and I’ll tell you what they are”. REALLY? *crushed*... Eventually she came over and identified hummus. Which I bought.

Now surely there must be pies, pitas, soups, lasagnas, the world famous bread?! All those mouthwatering photos we’d seen on their Facebook page? 

 

“Bread is tomorrow”. But as we all know, tomorrow never comes.

That was our last chance. It was their last chance.

We survived one more night in the rolling, vomitous conditions and we finally sailed out. The hummus is watery and bland. But at least I’ve got a green salad!!!

Paradise compromised - living the dream with a few glitches

I am blinking wildly at my reflection in the mirror.  Doughy red rimmed eyes stare back at me under a mop of salt caked, matted, sweat soaked, unbrushed hair. My skin is at once shiny and dull, like I’d been having far too much fun with a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken in my sleep.

The reality is far more banal. In the three hours of restless sleep I’ve had, I’ve sweat like an Olympic athlete. The heat. The heavy, cotton wool air of a boat cabin in 35 degree Celcius weather, without a breeze.

This annoys me and I frown. Immediately I’ve scared myself. I look like Eileen Wuornos – famous serial killer. Though I’ve only been killing mosquitos. Hundreds and hundreds of mosquitos. It’s becoming the norm these days. 

By day, sunshine interrupted by billowing, encroaching bursts of darkness then thunder and rain. Between, there are flies. Lord of the Flies in number. We start the culling process with a rolled up paper, but it’s futile really. We are no match for the fly swarms of the Bahamas in August.

Approaching storms

Then come the no-see-ums. The tiny, wretched pin pricks of the insect world that have us jumping like somewhere someone is stabbing at our own personal cursed voodoo dolls all day.

We don’t have sufficient netting/screens to keep the mosquitos away, but even the two we do have are no match for no-see-um stealth.

Suddenly, being rocked to and fro by an alarming side swell on the boat, I realise through my haze why I’m awake. I’m lucky to be supported physically by both sides of the tiny head/washroom. Only a few inches each side of me as I grip the edge of the basin. I splash a bit of water on my face and carefully dart up the three steps to the lounge, Shiloh’s main room, to see what’s going on.

It’s 5 am and our drag alarm has started. JW sprinted up immediately to assess.

It’s dark and the wind is howling and as far as we can assess, we are closer to the rocks behind us. The ripping current in the channel where we’ve anchored is fighting the wind and we are caught at a strange angle with waves slapping at the side and setting us a-wobble.

“I’ll have to stay up and watch” says my brave and stoic captain.

“Ok, call me in 30 minutes and we’ll trade off” I say casually and bound back down the stairs to the stifling comfort of my bed. How times have changed. An incident like this in the past would have signaled my adrenaline and I’d be in high anxiety, action mode. Now I am calculating the number of hours of non-quality sleep I’ve had and will have if I manage to get this 30 extra minutes in…

We’d been up til 1:30 trying to kill all mosquitos that had infiltrated the fortress, and preventing any others from entering. It was a team project – I spraying the two mosquito nets we own with poison and JW fitting them to the hatches with duct tape and a bit of imagination. Our little Black & Decker hand vacuum has become our weapon of choice and life saver in insect attack situations. The morning after finds the semi translucent bulbous middle of the device pocked with tiny blood stains and a twitching mass grave of insect matter. It’s disgusting and I want nothing to to with cleaning the aftermath. Not my job!

Turns out the drag alarm must have been a bit confused by all the currents and rocking and we didn’t have to re-anchor.

JW now snores gently down below, trying to make up for lost sleep. The sun is shining and smiling all around us, oblivious to the struggles of the night.

Outside is paradise. An extensive sand bank is forming, as it does every low tide, the turquoise waters slowly ebbing and parting so the snow white sand can take the spotlight for a few hours at a time. It beckons. Swim swim!

The water here is a vibrant and lively ecosystem as well. Stingrays, numerous sharks, pencilfish and thousands of clear gelatinous jelly fish are everywhere. They swim under us, around us, with us even.

One such gelatinous mass nudged me yesterday as we lounged in the shallow waters. I think I jumped the length of a swimming pool and let out a yelp that was heard throughout the Bahamas. Oops.

I admit - we are loving paradise in a selfish way. We’ve left the comforts of civilization, the sounds of blasting music and the bikini clad crowds of the southern Abacos behind, and we are trying to enjoy the remote beauty of these out islands before heading into the whole new world of the USA.

The bikini girls of Southern Abaco party life

We are right there at the top - at Double Breasted Cay

Our hair is unwashed, we wear the same salty clothes, we are feral, living wild. Alleycat caught us a fresh mutton snapper for supper. There is nothing like it. Out here on our own, eating fish from the sea.

But we miss fresh milk and veggies, and who invited all these bloody creatures to paradise???!!!

On the days we must be mad...

... (because what would a blog look like all full of pristine beaches, turquoise seas and rum punches?!)

 2 am as we lay panting in our tiny mosquito occupied chow-zone of a cabin in the stifling heat, not a breath of wind, sweat trickling down our necks and pooling on the dampened pillows beneath us, the random slapping of limbs breaks the relative silence of the dull hum of a useless fan. I thought ‘this couldn’t get worse’. (Note to self – never say those words, even in your head).

After weeks of prepping for our friend’s visitors in perfect Bahamian weather, they have arrived. And since then the whole climate’s gone for a ‘sh*t’.

They brought booze!

The visitors on arrival day

2:30 am the distant rumbles of thunder have caught up with us two lonely little catamarans in Cherokee Point, the vulnerable bay, exposed to all the oncoming fun and games. The sky lights up to the brightness of day in shocking zaps and we are up.

It’s like a colossal game of electrified ten pin bowling right over our heads and everywhere around us. The lesser gods are on a bender and they are at the lanes, drunken and disorderly. The ball rumbles along above us, barreling through the great black clouds and then the crescendo – a teeth clenching, boat-shattering smash as the thunderous ball hits the pins. Over and over again, as I wince and squeal. JW has turned off the main power to the boat, knowing we are at the mercy of these lesser gods as to whether we’ll take a direct hit and potentially lose all the electronics on board. 

They are obviously in the mood to have some fun with us. They’ve stirred up the ocean as well, so the boat spins and bobs madly in this rain drenched mayhem.

I retreat inside, brushing aside the mosquitos who are just as frightened I’m sure. They’ve taken such a back seat as the bad guys, they might as well retreat completely and come back with their blood sucking intentions another day.

And here I sit – making sure not to hold on to anything metallic just in case – and I focus on JW’s silhouette in the door, lit up like a photo negative in the lightning show. I know he is worried, and that the soul crushing feeling of being helpless in a situation furrows his brow.  I squeeze my eyes closed after each bolt snaps down from the clouds and see the jagged designs behind my eyelids over and over.

The truth is that we are in the vicinity of some serious danger. Boats are lightning attraction devices with their tall masts, and we’ve come to a bay where there is nothing around us but surface rocks, beach sand and a tiny settlement of one story homes nearby. So we are IT if it comes down to the wire. Worst case scenario the lightning passes through the boat, leaving a gaping hole below the water line and we sink. Total loss.

I think of the storms we’ve slept through on land, the light and noise a mere inconvenience with the secure feeling of insulated and sturdy walls protecting us. Out here it’s all raw and real. We have no mosquito nets, we have no lightning protection. It’s yang to the ying of the paradise we live in. It’s the other side of the coin. It’s real and it’s 5am and we’ve been up for hours.

As I rub my red sore eyes I realise this lifestyle has no middle ground. There is no ‘mildly amusing’ or ‘slightly annoying’ in our vocabulary. It’s all ‘OMG!’ or ‘WTF!’ Extreme beauty, extreme fun, extreme danger. Big joy, big problems.

On the boat next to us, a family has flown thousands of miles to see what we see. Experience what we call normal life. This is their vacation. They swat at mosquitos, wince at the storms and hopefully will experience some of the big joys over the next few days.

As the storm passes, the game has moved on and left us with some big winds and big seas. That means ‘anchor watch’ (to keep an eye that we don’t drag into the rocks behind us), so no sleeping yet. Until the sun rises and the benign morning negates the heightened fears of the night and promises a new day of extreme beauty and yet another adventure. Zzzzzzzz

 

Life aboard - day 1,100

My captain is on the foredeck on his knees, giving mouth to mouth to a giant blow up canoe. I’m in the galley with soapy hands, scrubbing the breakfast dishes, smiling at the spectacle.

It’s a Saturday morning but it could just as easily be any day. Morning is slipping into afternoon. Hours ago we decided we’d ‘get those canoes out’ and go for a paddle in this idyllic setting. And as it goes, ‘getting out those canoes’ morphed into half a day of digging, dismantling, climbing into tight, hot, extremely awkward spaces and rearranging everything from bicycles to big rubber fenders and bags of winter clothes. Deep down in the bowels of our boat. I faired well, coming out of it with spots of bike grease and only a few bruises.

Now we’re on the water, managed to get into the canoes without capsizing which in my book is an accomplishment. If we stop now I’ll still be happy. But no, we follow our buddies, 4 floating canoes, through the anchored boats and toward the mangroves ahead. I’m soaked minutes in, maybe I don’t quite get this rhythm with the oars, but each time I lift and dip I get a shower…

Nevertheless I am out here, doing this cool, exercise-eey type thing, in touch with nature and all that. We need a photo! “John! Take a picture!” Captain is prepared. Gets the waterproof camera out of the canoe’s dry compartment. And… and… oh shit. Battery is dead. So no pictures then. No proof I actually did this.

And then Al who’s in the lead, shouts back that he’s aground. Its low tide and if we want to go across to the beach – way over there – we’ll have to get out and pull our vessels through this shallow patch. Ok I think, no problem.

Wrong. Problem! As my oars touch ground instead of clear water and I step out to pull, my feet sink into a sludge stew of hot mud, rough long sea grass and chunks of mysterious under water monsters. I have no idea what each step will bring my feet in contact with. I could kill myself for forgetting my shoes. I want to go back. I’m fine with it. I’ve seen lots of beaches. I’ve had my exercise.

But no, everyone insists we carry on, and apparently my groans and yelps are amusing.

I’m the third one through this swamp nightmare. The others are ahead and behind me and I have no choice. And then, just as I’m getting to the end of it, where I can see smooth, clean sandy bottom ahead, I take a step and my foot sinks deep in the mud, right onto an evil spiked sea urchin, and I scream – loud – jumping forward, onto yet another one! This time I jump right into my canoe. I don’t care, I’ll spend the day beached right here in the safety of my canoe!

Captain can hardly stop laughing as he comes through and tugs me along, clung to my canoe, two feet further and we are out of it. I had no lasting injuries - except my dignity – so we carried on, got to the beach and walked through the glorious powder sand, around to the ocean side. Found some warm pools to lounge in between the rough rocks and reconsidered how rough my life was.

Now it’s evening, having survived the day. We have an early supper and head over to the Alley Cats for a pre-‘beach-bonfire-full-moon-party’ drink. Elsewhere it’s Easter weekend. Children will be searching for eggs and adults will be gathering to feast. Many will be in church. We will be on the beach, fending off biting no-see-um bugs, sipping local rum, meeting fellow cruisers over the flickering light of the bonfire. Easter will be a far off concept.

We will watch the rising of the blood red moon, in a clear sky, from Manjack Cay in the Bahamas. Today our home, tomorrow a wonderful memory.