We threw off the lines a little after 7 the next morning and followed four other boats out of the harbor passed Triangle Rocks through the Gun Cay Cut and emerged out onto the Great Bahama Bank. It was a calm day with light winds and the water glistened in spectacular shades of blue as we glided along. The Bank was a particularly shallow body of water and the brilliant colors were the result of light reflecting off the sand and coral on the bottom.
We were trying to get as close to the Tongue of the Ocean, where the depth dropped thousands of feet, by dark and anchor on the Bank for the evening. Around 1pm we approached Mackie Shoal and decided to have lunch. The water was like glass so I took my sandwich to the bow and soaked in the sun and enjoyed the sounds of the water rippling below us. As the sun began to set we charted a course to the Northwest Shoal and dropped anchor just as the sky was turning a burnt orange color. At first it was a little disconcerting anchoring in an area as vast as the ocean with no land in sight, but we were well out of the channel and had every light on illuminating our position, so I was able to relax a little. Well…except for the occasional thought of pirates which the Captain assured me was nonsense.
After a few glasses of wine we were ready to turn in for the evening, but, not letting wanting us to get too comfortable, the wind picked up around 10pm and the water began to crash against the hull like a sledgehammer. I was not as terrified as I had been the previous week, but it was going to be another sleepless Monday as I gathered our pillows and blankets setting up our campsite in the salon where the noise was not as pronounced.
Calming somewhat in the morning, we moved on toward the Tongue and decided to go south to Andros Island. Andros was the largest island in the Bahamas, but by contrast to most other inhabited areas, the least developed or visited. The trip through the Tongue proved to be as rocky and rolly as our days back on Lake Michigan with the current more favorable temperature being the only exception. We had read about an old superstition that making a sacrifice in the Tongue would guarantee safe passage. Figuring it couldn’t hurt, just like crossing the Gulf Stream, the Captain tossed in part of the anchor chain which, as I think I mentioned before, had been removed before we left home and had been riding with us all these months. As we watched the chain sink, he uttered a saying -“You can take a piece of us, but you can not claim all of us.” When the waves shifted to directly on the bow and we banged continuously up and down for what seemed like hours, we doubted the water gods had ample time to process our gift and Duane picked up speed in an effort to end the uncomfortable ride sooner than later.
Arriving in Morgan’s Bluff before 11am, we pulled into the harbor area and right off noticed we would be roughing it. We were told that we were permitted to tie off against the rocky wall next to the local bar that looked virtually abandoned or, as the Harbormaster offered, we could tie up to one of the local fishing boats which, from our vantage point, did not look very operational. Both options would cost us a mere $7 and change and, as the rocky wall did not look so forgiving, we opted to see if the locals minded if we tied up alongside them. Without hesitation a few fishermen ran to the port side of their boat and took our lines welcoming us with open arms. We thanked them for their hospitality with a few cold drinks. A little uneasy about our accommodations, we decided, for better or for worse, this will be home for a few days as we waited for the weather to calm.
Removing the bikes from the bow, we had to lug them across the fishing boat to the parking lot— our view on the port side…good thing the curtains will be closed anyway. Climbing across fish chests and coolers, we eyed the rusty water spout in the grass which we would be filling our jugs from to transfer to the tank onboard. On the far side of the lot were a few dilapidated cabins which at one time provided shower facilities, but were now in complete shambles with collapsed ceilings and broken pipes. Taking off down the dusty road what we noticed first off, just like in Bimini, were abandoned projects half completed all along the stretch and garbage littering the beautiful landscape of the island. It was truly disheartening.
Three and a half miles down the road we stumbled upon Driftwood BBQ and Seafood. My stomach was growling by this point and both of us were parched from the ride under the hot sun. Reclaimed wood furniture adorned the outdoor setting of the restaurant in vibrant colors. The aroma coming from the back deck on the barbecue had our mouths watering. Bringing us two ice cold Kaliks, we soon learned that our server, Vashi, owned the restaurant with her husband, Craig, the chef, and only opened a few days earlier after extensive renovations. The pair had gathered trees, driftwood (hence the name), shells, and anything that washed up on shore, even an old row boat, and took to the laborious task of constructing this unique outdoor cafe. Soon we were indulging ourselves on pulled pork and BBQ ribs that were super tender and delicious. We were further treated to scrumptious homemade side dishes making the sweaty bike ride worth it. Craig came out to introduce himself after the meal as we gave him high praises for everything we had just devoured. Chatting with the couple over another cold beer, Craig explained he was a US Ex-patriot who met Vashi, a local, while he was stationed on the island years ago, and decided to settle down and make a life here. Theirs was a touching story and after telling us some tales of the captivating island they called home, they directed us to a few must-see sights we had to explore while we were visiting.
After biking back to the harbor, we became a little more acquainted with our new neighbors who proved to be a very eclectic group. The Captain of the fishing boat was very personable and was curious about our trip thus far through the States. His crew ranged from a hyper Haitian, who spoke so fast in an unfamiliar slang that I only understood a few words, to a few polite younger men who nodded and drank beer most of the afternoon, to a local who yelled and cursed most of the time at or to nobody in particular. Assured that they were all harmless, we retreated to the confines of the cabin and I locked us in for the evening.
The next morning we were awakened by the commotion as one of the local boats was going out for some conch. We decided to lower the dinghy and take Baby Belle to the beach for the afternoon to gather shells, climb the rocks along the reef and try our hand at fishing. It was a beautiful relaxing day and we relished the serenity of our little oasis. Back at the boat I took a water conscious shower which we discussed was going to be the norm going forward since water may not be so readily available in future destinations. Sufficiently refreshed, we were deciding on dinner as we watched the resident manatee and her baby swim around, when there was suddenly a horn honking in the parking lot. Peaking out from behind the curtains there was a gentleman standing on the edge of the wall waving to us. We soon came to find out that his name was Norm and he too was an Ex-patriot living on the island with his wife Karen. Norm was friends with Craig and Vashi who had told him we were in the harbor visiting the island for a few days. Inviting us to dinner at a local restaurant in town named Bubu’s, we jumped at the chance to see more of what the island had to offer that our bikes couldn’t take us to. The restaurant was a small establishment with two tables, but no one was inside so we were soon being served rum punches and waiting on our burgers. Norm and Karen were from the Midwest and decided to move to the island years ago to live a simpler life. Before dropping us back at the boat, Norm drove us to Driftwood to have a nightcap and say Hello to Craig and Vashi. We had a great evening and were so happy to have had the pleasure of all of their company.
At 2am the harbor lit up under the spotlight of the cargo ship dropping the weekly supplies off from Nassau. The ship was so close to us maneuvering into position, I could have touched the side and there was nothing we could do to ward off the close encounter with this floating mass of metal that was ten times our size. Duane stepped outside to assess the situation and a voice from the shadows asked if he could go on land and catch the line to secure the ship. Reluctantly, he obliged, and I watched in fear that the huge monkey fist being hurled his way with the rope attached would knock him out. All went smoothly and we were soon back in bed trying to drown out the noise of the trucks unloading the cargo. Then at 6:45 there was a loud knock on the boat and we could not fathom what was going on now. Emerging from the cabin, we saw a man claiming his name was William sitting on the side of our boat. He noticed the gas tanks strapped to the swim platform and asked if we could spare a gallon to get his car started. He needed to get home to collect his belongings in order the make it back in time to catch the cargo ship which was heading back to Nassau once it was unloaded. William promised to reciprocate our generosity with fresh fruit and veggies upon his return with the gas can so Duane handed over “Joe Blo” and off William went. Returning soon enough with the promised tomatoes, papaya, peppers and lettuce, we expected the empty gas can and would call it even. Instead, William proceeded to ask us for some money in exchange for the food saying anything we could spare would be appreciated. Being caught off guard, we gave him ten dollars at which he asked for ten more and proceeded to explain that he needed the cash to purchase more gas to still get himself home. Uncomfortable as to where these fresh goods came from as we were now skeptical that he even owned a farm, we gave him the extra money to move him along. In the end we never saw him or “Joe Blo” again and found out a few days later that he was arrested carrying drugs to Nassau on the cargo ship he was rushing to catch. The fishing boat Captain shook his head as we explained the story later in the week and muttered something about Karma.
As for the cargo ship, the crew diligently worked all night and through most of the next day as crates of fruits, veggies and food as wells as cars and various equipment were unloaded and set up in sections in the parking lot. Soon after, people busied around claiming their property and hurried on their way. It was a whole different way of life on the island.
The sun was blazing hot, but we biked our way up to Henry Morgan’s Cave. Stories of treasure buried in the cave may be folklore, but it was exciting to climb inside the cool confines of the rocks and take a look around…and pray the bats stayed asleep. A little up the road was Morgan’s Bluff. We climbed up the rocks to the top overlooking the vast expanse of the water as the waves crashed below. There was a makeshift cross at the tip which we assumed was a symbol to honor all those lost at sea.
Norm had emailed us that he had set up a get together at Driftwood later in the day and would be by to pick us up around 5:30. There were a few other boats anchored in the outer harbor so we took the dinghy over to invite them, but none seemed too interested. The gathering was with about ten other Americans and Canadians who resided on the island…some year round and others just lived there in the winter months. Each of their stories was more intriguing than the next ranging from tales of hurricane destruction and survival, to failed marriages and even some of promising business opportunities. In turn, they were equally intrigued by our tale of having left home on our 35 ft boat thousands of miles and over 6 months ago.
Biking the next afternoon to F&H Takeaway for lunch, we happened upon the small shack with chicken wire across the windows. Walking through the broken front door we were greeted by an older woman who was watching a gospel sermon on a small television. Embarrassed to walk out, we ordered two conch burgers and tried to stay cool. The meal was simple but tasty and I was able to have French fries so there were no complaints from me. The winds since we arrived had been terrible so we went up to the Bluff to see how the seas looked. The water was still unsettled, but not as volatile as they had been the other day. Duane was seriously contemplating moving on in the morning. I just rolled my eyes at the suggestion as I felt myself getting seasick at the mere thought of being out in those waters.
The fishermen had returned and were cleaning their catch at the docks when we returned. The Captain told us to come aboard and sold us fresh fish and threw in some conch as a bonus. After seasoning the fish that evening, Duane went outside to heat up the barbecue. That’s when I saw it…..a cockroach!!! We had seen the creature running around on the fishing boat, but it was a whole other story now that it had made its way over scurrying along our transom. I’ve never seen Duane move so fast as he grabbed the bug with a rag and threw both clear away from the boat. With that creepy encounter, I was more than ready to brave the waters and move on in the morning.
By now we had deduced that two of the crew lived on the derelict fishing boats and, seeing us preparing to depart, helped us untie the next morning wishing us safe travels. Looking back now, the cockroach probably tainted my better judgement and we were soon battling 4-6 foot seas. 3 miles out we hit a wave so hard it felt like we rammed a brick wall and the bow was buried under the water for what seemed like an eternity. Without hesitation or pleading from me, the Captain spun the boat around in the turbulent conditions and we retreated back to the harbor. Instead of motoring back to the fishing boat, we anchored in the outer harbor for the night to lick our wounds. My terrified tolerance for rough conditions had definitely gone up in the last few months, but not that much.
It was a bumpy night and the winds were picking up, so we dejectedly idled back inside in the morning and waved to our friends. Tying us back up, the fishing boat Captain called out saying he was wondering when we would be back. Not missing a beat as he chopped the head off of a fish, he shook his head and said not even the crazy locals would attempt to go out in those conditions.
Giving Norm a call to let him know of our failed departure attempt, he picked us up for lunch and, later in the evening when the thunderstorms hit, came by with Karen to collect us and take us back to their house for movie and popcorn night. It was a pleasant reprieve to sit on a couch that was not rocking back and forth for one evening. Finding out we had not taken hot showers in some time, even though I personally counted the solar shower as a luxury, they offered for us to come back the following day to remedy that situation and, to boot…do some much needed laundry. The idea of clean towels and more than a five minute shower made my night…actually my whole week.
Getting stir crazy in our current location, we decided to rent a car the next day and drive south to Fresh Creek. Passing the small airport, we were soon at Brigadiers which Norm suggested we head to for lunch. It was virtually empty as the winds were whipping outside and we tried to find a table with come protection that still had a view of the sparkling blue water. After lunch, we walked along the beach and then made our way to the Androsia Batik factory to have a tour. The factory was nothing elaborate and rather primitive as we were lead to the three distinct areas that ultimately collaborated to produce the garments. The first shack housed the rubber stamps which were dipped in wax by hand and then pressed onto the fabric. The next area housed big vats of dye for the color. Once procured, the fabrics were taken to the sewing room where three women were sitting at sewing machines following patterns making the various articles of clothing. It was very interesting to see the mechanics of the process played out in front of us and I scored myself a cute blue skirt on the way out.
Before we headed back to the Bluff, we went to take a gander at Captain Bill’s Blue Hole. We had been hearing about these blue holes since we arrived and wanted to see what they were all about. This one in particular was said to be the largest watering hole on the island at about 100 feet deep and 440 feet in diameter and described as a mysterious labyrinth of underwater caves and cavities beneath the surface. There was a diving tour proceeding to the hole when we arrived and the entrance looked a little sketchy, so we admired the impressive natural wonder from the cliff.
Showers that evening were much appreciated and we were able to say farewell to Norm and Karen, as well as a few others we had met earlier in the week, who were having drinks in their backyard when we arrived. We were so fortunate to have been introduced to so many wonderful people on our trip to the island making it feel less like we were being held captive by Mother Nature.
Today was the day! The winds had calmed and the seas had settled enough for us to make the 50 or so mile trip to New Providence. We hurried in the morning to return the car and along the way made stops at the Andros Water Factory to purchase some drinking water and to Captain Charlie’s Blue Hole which was scary and murky and not as inviting as the Blue Hole in the park. Turning in our keys, I went to the small store to purchase some homemade red velvet cake for the trip this afternoon as we waited for our ride back to the harbor. To our surprise, Craig and Vashi were shopping for some vegetables so we were able to say Goodbye and wish them well.
Here we go again…we got the thumbs up from our local fishing Captain and off we went. This time there’s no turning back 😃
