Tag Archive | Grand Bahama Island

Remember the Main!

The definition of “cruising” is fixing your boat in exotic locations.

— Author unknown

After enjoying Bimini for almost two weeks, I picked a windless morning in mid-March at Brown’s Marina to raise our mainsail at the slip. I wanted to test the new Tides Marine plastic, low-friction mainsail track that our rigger had installed just two days before we left Florida. We did not even need the mainsail when we motored across the Gulf Stream to the Bahamas because there was no wind. However, we would likely need the mainsail for sailing to West End on Grand Bahama Island the next day, and I needed to make sure everything was working properly at the dock before heading out to sea — where things are harder to fix.

The sail Would. Not. Go. Up.

The mainsail is heavy, so I used the heavy-duty electric winch for persuasion. It only went up part way and then became hopelessly stuck. Releasing the winch, I tried to lower the main. Now, it would not go down! After hanging my full weight on it and bouncing, it finally came all the way down. What was the problem? The mainsail went up and down fine with the old plastic sail track, but would not go up with the new one.

Let’s back up to January and February to explain how we got into this predicament. Our boat mortgage requires us to always have boat insurance. Boat insurance covers sailing in the US, but coverage in the Bahamas requires an insurance endorsement. To get the insurance endorsement, our insurance provider required us to get a hull survey (“inspection”) and a “rigging aloft” survey. The term “rigging aloft” means the mast, boom, spreaders, shrouds, stays, and running rigging. The hull survey went fine. Our regular rigger was then able to perform the rigging survey. Everything was mostly fine, except that he said our old, plastic sail track was cracking and should be replaced. The danger of not replacing sail track is that the mainsail could get stuck in the up position and we would not be able to lower it when we needed to. The choice was clear, we had to replace it. However, the rigger was unable to finish the installation until two days before we sailed. There was no urgency to test it after installation, since it is so simple that nothing could possibly go wrong.

Back in Bimini, we were ready to jump to West End during a short weather window in the middle of March. I scoured the Tides Marine website to figure out the problem. The sail track is a long, low-friction plastic track that is attached to the mast on one side and has a long slot on the other side. Stainless steel sliders are attached to spaced locations on the mainsail and have a flat part that slides up and down inside the slot when the mainsail is raised and lowered, and another part that attaches to the sail. Simple!

*Old slider still attached to the mainsail in the new track*

The Tides Marine website, however, disclosed a slider manufacturing defect that lasted for several years, and that has long since been corrected. The result was that the old sliders with the manufacturing defect did not fit the new sail tracks. The sliders would get stuck in the track, and that was our problem. We had to get a replacement set of sliders and install them ourselves in the Bahamas.

We motor sailed 64 miles from Bimini north to West End using our engine and jib sail. It is about an 11 hour trip. We were quickly outside of cell tower range, so I deployed our Iridium Go!® satellite communication system. I sent text messages and e-mails to both our rigger and Tides Marine to get an order placed as soon as possible. I did not want to lose even a single day. We were going to be in Freeport / Port Lucaya in a week or two, and that is one of the easiest places to get parts shipped in when in the Bahamas.

*Iridium Go!™ satellite communication system*

Tides Marine was wonderful to deal with. They acknowledged the manufacturing defect, and agreed to provide and ship the replacement set of sliders to us for free. The retail price of the replacement sliders was about $1000, and shipping from the US to the Bahamas would have cost hundreds.

Getting boat parts shipped to another country is more complicated than shipping to destinations in the US. The quintessential way that you read about in the cruising guides and online is as follows. You get your parts to the US base of a tiny Caribbean airline like Makers Air. Their base is at a small airport outside of Fort Lauderdale. The airline puts your package on a puddle jumper airplane and they land at an airstrip somewhere close to you in the Caribbean. You hire a “customs broker” of your choice to navigate the impossible-to-understand paperwork. Think like you’re hiring a bail bondsman, picking him out of a list of names in the phone book. In my mind, a customs broker is a mustachioed man in a Panama hat and loud tropical shirt who may or may not have to pass the customs man a $50 to get your goods out of the pokey. Instead, I chose FedEx.

Why not ship FedEx? There are 700 islands in the Bahamas, but there are only two FedEx offices in the whole country. Fortunately, we were going very close to the one in Freeport, which is just five miles from Port Lucaya, our marina destination. I told Tides Marine to put my name on the shipping label and “hold for pickup.” As a cruiser, I have done this for other shipments in the US, and it seemed like the most straightforward way to get my shipment.

I checked the status of my shipment online daily using the tracking number provided by Tides Marine, and for 11 days it said “waiting for customs clearance.” I phoned FedEx customer service almost every day to see when the shipment would be released and if there was anything I needed to do. Each time, the agent told me the release would be very soon, and there is absolutely nothing I needed to do to receive my shipment. I asked whether I should go to the FedEx store in Freeport and talk with a representative. Absolutely not!

So, the next day I took a taxi the five miles to FedEx store and back so I could talk with a representative in person. The taxi cost me $80 round trip. That was very steep, but I understand they have flat rates on Grand Bahama Island. I had considered walking. However, my taxi was a spotless, unmarked black Range Rover driven by “Mr. Forbes” in a starched, white button-down shirt, who waited for me outside while I did my business with FedEx. I paid the fare, realizing it was just the cost of doing business to get my parts so we could repair our mainsail and sail on to our next destination.

At the FedEx store, the clerk was very helpful and very friendly. The steps for receiving an international package were clearly printed on a poster hung on the wall, and I had never heard of any of these steps in any cruising guide. I will share them with you so that you will not have to suffer the delays that we did:

Create a user ID and password on the Click2Clear website and register as an “importer.” There is no charge for this, and needs to be done only once. Cruisers in the Bahamas are required to use Click2Clear to apply for a cruising permit, but there is otherwise no need to create a user ID and password. FedEx registered me as an importer while I waited at no charge.
Fill out Bahamas Customs Form C44, which allows FedEx to act as my customs broker. They also had to scan my passport.
Present an original invoice and/or receipt for the goods showing the description. FedEx accepted the PDF invoice that Tides Marine had sent me by email.
Email all documents to FPOIMPORT@FEDEX.COM with the tracking number in the subject line.

After all that, the FedEx rep said Bahamas Customs could release my parts as soon as tomorrow. I received an email the very next day that my package had been released!

Instead of spending another $80 on a taxi, I found that I could take a “public bus” for about $2 each way. There is no bus schedule, there is no route map, and the bus stops are unmarked. But they show up every 30 – 60 minutes or so and somehow get you close to your destination. The “buses” are beat-up Mitsubishi minivans and the driver is usually playing Bahamian “rake and scrape” music on the radio enthusiastically. The buses themselves are a trip, the drivers and passengers are friendly, and I always got off the bus smiling. I took a public bus to FedEx and back and saved myself about $76 in taxi fare.

I had to pay import duty and pay for FedEx as my customs broker. All in, the fees came to about $50.

The next day, with 18 pieces of highly machined stainless steel of three different sizes in hand, I undertook the chore of replacing each of the old, bad sliders with a new one. This involved partially raising the mainsail at the marina slip so that I could remove an old slider one at a time and install a new slider — without having the mainsail catch the wind and cause damage. The chore took most of a day. I tested my work by raising the main all the way up to the top and letting it drop when I released the main halyard. Catmandu finally passed the test. Now, all we had to do is wait for the wind to change.

Installing the new sliders into the mainsail track

“Remember the Main”

The actual phrase is “Remember the Maine,” a slogan of the Spanish-American War following the explosion of the US battleship Maine in Havana Harbor in 1898.

The Sailboat that Couldn’t Sail

May1

Dreaming is happiness. Waiting is life.
— Victor Hugo

If we learn to enjoy waiting, we don’t have to wait to enjoy.
— Kazuaki Tanahashi

Our easterly route from Ginn Sur Mer followed the southern coast of Grand Bahama Island, which looked nearly deserted until we got closer to Freeport. The marine traffic picked up as we neared the harbor entrance, with a few huge cargo ships and tankers. Something was burning in Freeport, sending up clouds of heavy smoke. There were terminals out in the water for the tankers to offload oil and gas. It all seemed ugly and industrial to me after the deserted natural beauty of Ginn Sur Mer.

*Kay at the front gate of the Grandma Yacht Club.*

*We entered Bell Channel, shown on the right, and took a slip at Grand Bahama Yacht Club.* *The Lucaya Marketplace is to the left of the yacht club, and some of the canals we explored are to the right.*

After hearing other boaters calling for the “Grandma Mama Yacht Club,” we finally got our slip assignment and pulled easily into the C dock at Grand Bahama Yacht Club. This would end up being our favorite marina on this trip, even though we were stuck here waiting for boat parts (we still could not raise our mainsail) and a weather window. It’s not bad being stuck close to town with a pool, a pool bar and a restaurant, in a slip near the bathrooms and laundry.

*The marina buildings were well maintained and featured the architectural style seen here, with open verandas, arched entryways, and white picket fences. Phil is sitting on the steps.*

We were docked next to a large catamaran called Isle of Misfits, with artwork depicting the Misfit Toys from the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer cartoon-movie. After tidying the lines and fenders, we headed to the pool bar for a celebratory beer, unaware that it didn’t open until 4. As we sat waiting for a bartender to arrive, two men sat down next to us at the bar.

*Our neighbors’ boat was decorated with characters from the Isle of Misfit Toys.* (Photo courtesy of their Facebook group.)

“Are you our new neighbors?” one asked. “We are the Misfits.” We introduced ourselves and gave them a boat card. We chatted about our boat names, mentioning that we were waiting for sail parts that might arrive in Freeport any day now. Just before they left, one said to me, “I just realized that you are misfits, too. Remember the boat that couldn’t float? You are the sailboat that couldn’t sail.”

(For a great laugh when you need one, please read Ben Bowman’s ranking of the Misfit Toys.)

*Phil befriended a blue-eyed stranger at the pool bar. She is the figurehead at the bow of the boat-shaped bar at Pisces Restaurant.*

Life at Grandma Yacht Club

We settled into marina life, filling our days with cleaning chores, laundry, and a couple of trips to the large grocery store (Solomons) in a courtesy van. The marina offers rides every weekday at noon. I also had to have blood drawn for my oncologist in Fort Lauderdale, and Phil found an in-network lab we could walk to. (To be honest, I really couldn’t. I was out of breath and in pain by the time we finished the mile and a half in the hot sun. We took a taxi back.) Meanwhile, we waited for our package. Phil called, emailed, and visited FedEx and Customs. The first visit to the FedEx office cost $80 for the taxi. He found the city bus after that ($1.50).

On laundry day, we went to the office for quarters, and Phil wanted to take a picture of the marina sign. He brought along a burgee (flag) he’d saved from his first visit here on his neighbor’s sailboat 19 years ago. As we were posing, we asked a dock hand to take our picture – and he stared hard at the flag we were holding.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

“Right here, 19 years ago,” said Phil.

“I think I gave that to you,” he said with a grin. “I’m Fabian. I’ve been here 23 years. I recognize that old flag.”

*Fabian took this picture of us with our “VIP” burgee. Phil had gotten it the first time he docked here, 19 years ago on a friend’s boat.*

We were VIPs after that, and people at the pool told us they heard the story from Fabian. We flew that flag, our VIP flag, for the rest of our visit.

*The pool was amazingly clean and pretty cold. We spent a few afternoons here.*

We loved the swimming pool and visited often. It was cold, but clean with a waterfall and bridge at one end and lanes for laps. We struck up conversations with other boaters there, and learned a little about Port Lucaya, the ferry service, and a place to dock the dinghy near the bars and restaurants at the market square. We also encountered a woman walking a large black pig like a dog. “Oh, that’s Chris,” Phil was told. “Short for Chris P. Bacon.”

*Meet Chris P. Bacon, a pet pig that roamed the marina.* *He is obviously not one of the pigs who can swim*.

Back in the Dinghy Again

*We explored Port Lucaya and the nearby waterways by dinghy every chance we got.*

Of course, our favorite pastime while we waited for sail parts was dinghy rides. We were advised by various cruising guides not to anchor within sight of the marina. We went into the canals to find alternate anchoring spots, but every one of the possible sites had a no anchoring sign.

*Although there were possible anchorages in the canals, they all had “no anchoring” signs erected by the marina.*

Along the way, we found derelict boats, derelict houses, wrecked docks, and a few construction sites. One large marina adjacent to Port Lucaya Marketplace is completely wrecked, even worse than it was when we visited by land several years ago. No one seems to be interested in repairing it.

*In spite of its perfect location at Port Lucaya Marketplace, this marina has been closed for years.*

On one excursion, we came across this boat, and Phil said, “Now there’s a boat I could afford!”

*Phil nearly adopted this derelict. I warned him not to get too close.*

Phil called it a tramp steamer. For some reason, it reminded me of a scene in a movie that I couldn’t quite remember.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if there were monkeys,” I said.

We both laughed because I realized that must have sounded like a random thought to Phil, not knowing what I was trying to remember: a movie with monkeys taking over a similar boat. (If you know what I was thinking of, please identify the movie in the comments.)

*Phil thought this was a boat he could afford.*

We took the dinghy to the Port Lucaya Marketplace several times, parking it near the ferry landing by Sabor’s Restaurant. We walked around the shops, restaurants and bars, buying very little. At Happy Hour, we sometimes found ourselves at Rum Runner, where the music was loud and often featured American country.

*Kay enjoying an adult beverage at Rum Runners. We were practically regulars.*

We talked with other patrons at the bar: a pair of flight attendants from Texas; a “Conchy Joe” who explained that his nickname was what they called White Bahamians; and other travelers who sipped the tall, icy concoctions made by the busy Bahamian bartenders.

*Phil and I spent a couple of beers at Bones, a neighborhood bar with a dinghy dock.*

*Fair Play was another happy hour spot at the Lucaya Marketplace. This background looks painted, but it is real.*

Three weeks slipped away, and we were still waiting for the sliders that would fix our mainsail. Phil will tell that part of the tale, but as he did everything he could to unite us with our package, we enjoyed the amenities and camaraderie of Grandma Mama Yacht Club. Until the day before we left, Catmandu continued to be the embodiment of a misfit toy: the sailboat that couldn’t sail.

The Lamb and the Lion at Ginn Sur Mer

Apr18

If humans just disappeared from the world, and you could come back to Earth … one year later,
the first thing you’d notice wouldn’t be with your eyes.
It would be with your ears.
The world would be quiet.
—Carlton Basmajian, Ph.D., Iowa State University

The Unrealized Resort

The Ginn Sur Mer development on the southwestern coast of Grand Bahama Island is not a ghost town. Despite its roads, stop signs, electrical lines and dredged waterways, it was never a town at all. No one ever lived here and only one house was ever built. The developers envisioned golf courses, luxury homes, hotels, restaurants and room for mega yachts.

*An aerial view of Ginn Sur Mer from the Waterway Guide®.*

After the Ginn company defaulted on a $650 million loan, Credit-Suisse foreclosed on the property in 2010. Although the government was eager to find new investors, work stopped on the luxury property. The original developers left wide canals with stone sea walls and a 14-foot deep anchorage with room for 9 or 10 boats.

*An ad for Ginn Sur Mer, showing the high hopes of the developers.*

When we arrived there were three other boats in the anchorage but by the time evening came around, there were nine boats in the basin and one catamaran in the canal to the east. A stiff wind was predicted for the following night so anyone in the area looking for a safe refuge didn’t have many choices. It is really the only protected anchorage in this end of Grand Bahama Island, which is a very long island.

We were anxious to explore all the little canals, and after a brief friendly visit from one of our Canadian neighbors, we climbed into our dinghy to take a look around. “Deserted” doesn’t begin to describe the eeriness of this area. The sandy roads have stop signs at intersections, and a completed bridge crosses over the canal. The vegetation consists of low shrubs and trees that crowd in on the few cleared lots.

*Leaving* Catmandu for some dinghy exploration. Looks like the wind has started to blow.

*A bridge over the canal had been completed, and was ready for vehicles.*

We wandered around in the canals using our quiet Electric Paddle® electric motor, coming to a couple of small lakes where the canals ended (see the chart above). Because the waterways are lined with stone seawalls, there was no way to beach the dinghy and explore on land. The wildlife was silent; we didn’t even hear birds singing. We saw one turtle on the way into the basin, but no fish, turtles, dolphins or land animals after that.

*The only completed house sits empty and quiet on the beachfront. Here it is from the canal.*

We wanted to see the one house that was built, and found it on the canal closest to the beach. It stands on the beachfront, about three stories high, with a large garage and a finished roof. It looks ready for occupation, but no one lives there. Of course there are no nearby services except for the few amenities offered by the settlement of West End, four miles away over half-finished roadways. Our Canadian neighbors told us they had entered the house and looked around, but we were not about to trespass, no matter who owns the property.

*Phil, exploring Ginn Sur Mer by dinghy.*

The Big Blow

Phil keeps a close eye on wind predictions, so we knew a big wind was about to blow. The harbor was crowded because of the wind forecast, and the crowded anchorage made high wind much more dangerous. For inexperienced boaters who don’t exactly know how much chain to put out with the anchor, there is a danger of dragging and hitting other boats. But even for seasoned sailors, high winds can dislodge a well-placed anchor, and most cruisers have dragged their anchors at one time or another.

*Phil studying forecasts from Predict Wind™ and other sources, before the winds started howling.*

We were nervous about the 25-knot wind predictions. It doesn’t sound like a lot until it is howling above you and rattling your boat’s rigging. This wind began to whirr at sunset, and by ten o’clock, we were seeing 20-knots on the wind instrument. The wind howled above us. The shallow anchorage was whipped up to a froth and the waves rocked the boat. The sustained winds reached 25 knots with 27-knot gusts.

I tried to sleep, but Phil stayed outside and monitored the anchor watch. It was pitch dark, except for ten anchor lights and the cockpit lights of a few other boats with skippers staying at their helms, also on anchor watch. The concrete seawall on one side and coral ledge on the other side of the narrow channel were invisible except on the chart plotter.

At 11 pm, Phil saw on the chart plotter that our anchor had been briefly dislodged and had dragged about 25 feet before catching again. For the anxiety that caused, he stayed at the helm all night, finally coming to bed at 4:30 am. I offered to finish out the night, but he said the wind would die down soon. It was 7:30 am before we heard the wind settle down, just as the sun rose.

We stayed at Ginn Sur Mer for one more night and on Saturday morning we tried to raise the anchor. Phil pulled up as much chain as he could with the anchor windlass, but it wouldn’t budge from the bottom. He directed me to motor forward slowly, first to the right and then left, as he moved the chain in different directions. The anchor was wedged down tightly, and due to the high winds, it had been pulled with a lot of force, possibly under rocks.

After 20 minutes of maneuvering back and forth, Phil told me to motor forward and finally got the anchor off the bottom. If we hadn’t been able to free it, the alternatives were limited: let the anchor go with 150 feet of attached chain, or dive into murky water to attach another line to help pull it up. Luckily, we didn’t have to make that decision.

*The Ginn Sur Mer anchorage, peaceful at sunset.*

We love the peace of a deserted anchorage, being off the grid with no motors running. It is so often ruined by inconsiderate people in their loud boats and even louder music. And nature itself sometimes gets loud: howling winds, waves crashing, laughing gulls, ospreys, and (sometimes) ocelots. But after the boats leave and the winds die down, there’s just the musical lapping of ripples against the hull. Phil calls it happy boat sounds. My word for it is quiet.

The Kindness of Strangers

Apr9

“Carry out a random act of kindness, with no expectation of reward,
safe in the knowledge that one day someone might do the same for you.”
—Princess Diana

“Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.”
—Maya Angelou

Bimini to Grand Bahama Island

The sun hadn’t quite popped over the horizon when we left Brown’s Marina on March 14, but it was light enough to see. We fought a 2-knot current as we made our way out of the harbor and swung wide to avoid marked sandbars. The sun came up as we turned north and headed straight for the side of a Carnival Cruise ship. It was very slowly backing into position on the Bimini Cruise ship pier, in no hurry to get out of our way.

*The Carnival Paradise was backing into the Bimini Cruise Ship Pier very slowly.*

We passed the Carnival Paradise on her bow and put out the headsail to take advantage of a light SE wind coming across our starboard beam. The sail gave us a little boost and we motored north at 6 to 6.5 knots, rolling rhythmically in a 1- to 2-foot swell. By 10am, we were shedding our sweatshirts as the day warmed up.

Around mid-day, Phil noticed that we were once again out of the sight of land. “Who will see land first?” he asked, but I knew he would. He pointed out a lighthouse to our right that I could barely make out in the hazy distance. “Great Isaac Cay,” he said. “We’re at the same latitude as Fort Lauderdale now.”

We talked about the lack of dolphins (or whales) and the plenitude of flying fish, little silvery missiles that torpedo through the air just above the surface for a few yards before re-entering the water with barely a splash. “Wonder what’s chasing them,” I said.

“Dolphins,” he said.

“And whales?” I tried to imagine giant beasts just below the surface, mouths open to receive a silvery meal.

Land appeared ahead of us and to our right, showing up as a light border on the edge of a darker mass. That was sand; pristine deserted beaches lead into the ocean on every side of Grand Bahama Island except around the industrial city of Freeport.

*We entered the inlet at West End Point and docked in those slips you see to the left of the word “Beach.”*

We headed to West End, the aptly named town on the western point of the island. The marina, Old Bahama Bay, had a narrow winding approach between stone jetties that boats had to enter single file. A greedy catamaran suddenly came up on our right and raced to squeeze in front of us at the entrance. Phil slowed and let them pass while I called them names under my breath. (He’s nicer than I am.)

Old Bahama Bay Marina

As Phil motored into the small harbor, docks appeared on the left with a long fuel dock hugging the jetty along the right side. I readied the bow lines and got a mid-ship line just in case. Phil was forced to make a starboard loop to manage the tight turn into our allotted slip. The slip was the first one on the left, around a narrow dock. He took a right turn to get the boat angled into the parking space, when a sudden gust came at us from the west, pushing the boat into the long empty fuel dock.

*Here is the fuel dock across from the slip we were assigned. Wind pressed us up against this dock as we tried to pull in to our slip. Note that none of the docks have cleats.*

We both rushed to the port side, pushing off the dock as hard as we could, but couldn’t fight the wind. We stayed pinned there while Phil tried to steer the bow off to the right and I pushed the pilings away. I felt panicked; I think Phil did, too. I heard him swear as a gust blew us back to the dock and disconnected one of the bimini supports.

The woman who runs the fuel dock saw our dilemma and ran out to help us. She reached out for the bow pulpit and pushed us off. Then she ran to the middle of the boat and used a leg to push off one of our stanchions. Phil tried backing up with a sharp turn of the wheel and finally got the bow to swerve right. He pushed forward harder and I put my feet off the side of the bow to push off of the dock. We finally eased into the middle of the channel and I yelled a quick thanks to the woman on the dock.

The wind slowed as quickly as it had started, and Phil was able to steer Catmandu into her parking spot. A couple of cruisers from the next slip rushed over to help with the lines. The woman tying our spring line suddenly looked up.

“Is that Phil?” she said. “Oh my gosh.”

“Astrid?” Phil said.

“It’s the former Gulfstream commodores club!” she said. Ross and Astrid had both served as commodores, and so had Phil.

They had just arrived on their sailboat Commotion after a long crossing, and coincidentally (as it so often happens) had docked into the slip next to ours. They helped with lines, chatted with us about the crossing, and suggested what to order at the local restaurant. (Ah, the Grouper Grilled Cheese sandwich – so gooey and delicious with “magic” sauce – I took their advice.)

*Catmandu safely tied up at Old Bahama Bay Marina.*

A local bread woman came by, offering $7 loaves of wheat, cinnamon raisin, coconut, and banana breads. I hesitated while Ross bought a couple of loaves and then she was gone, down the dock pulling her wagon of bread behind her. I regretted not picking up a loaf of raisin bread, and when we saw her later outside the restaurant, she was sold out of all but banana bread.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Phil said, but we didn’t see her again until the night before we left, when she only had $12 white bread, not something we needed. Phil makes delicious French bread from scratch every week. I confess I thought about homemade cinnamon raisin bread for days.

When we brought our coffees into the cockpit early the next morning, Astrid and Ross were gone. Neither of us woke as they backed out of the dock right next to us. The next night, a new catamaran pulled into the slip on the other side of us. They had crossed from West Palm Beach expecting to arrive in daylight. The wind and sea state had slowed them down and they ended up banging into the wind and waves and arriving long after dark. They were from New Hampshire, on their way to a family gathering on Treasure Cay, just stopping long enough to wait for a weather window, do laundry, and recover.

*There is a lovely pool area, open to marina guests, and a pool bar to the right.*

The Old Bahama Bay Marina was practically empty for the few days we were there, with lots of open slips. The marina consists of a fuel dock, a restaurant, a hotel or two, a small store which is only open at the whim of the proprietor, and a drink shack called Banana Hammock. The adjoining resort property has a sandy beach and a lush pool area with a pool bar that serves food. All of the servers there wore shirts with “Dis” before their names: Dis Becky, and Dis Francine as in, This is Becky.

*Here’s our selfie at the pool bar with Dis Becky.*

We have found that stores and restaurants tend to be closed on Sunday, so we were surprised and delighted to find the Banana Hammock open on Sunday afternoon. There were two well-dressed middle aged Bahamian women sitting there (fresh from church, I thought) and the music was pure American country. We sat and drank “Sonds” beers – the local beer is Sands, but natives call it sonds.

*We enjoyed cold beers at Banana Hammock in the company of two Bahamian women dressed for church.*

I listened to the lilting dialect of the women beside me, realizing I didn’t understand every word but loving the sound of it. There was no food there; it’s just a drink shack. Back at the boat, we had gin and tonics in the cockpit and a dinner of veggie brats on the grill.

*Captain’s hour on Catmandu with crackers, cheese, veggies and dip.*

Snorkeling with Rays

We visited the beach the next day with our snorkeling gear and swam above the grassy sand watching little fish dart around beneath us, weaving in and out of the swaying grasses. Phil swam ahead with the Go-Pro into deeper water. Suddenly, a large dark shadow caught my attention down below my feet and my heart sped up. A black, shiny ray about three feet across swam just under my stomach and I felt a moment of panic. I squealed and stood up, watching the tail of the ray move across my path.

“What!” Phil yelled, coming to my side. I laughed because you would have thought I was in mortal danger and it wasn’t even big for a ray. But it was exciting, and I told Phil where it went so he could follow with the Go-Pro. As he left, I stuck my face back in the water and saw a cloud of little 3-inch fish in the hundreds swimming all around me. I can’t identify fish, but these were silvery and fish-shaped with gray stripes (possibly striped seabream?).

The next day, we tried to get a ride to the convenience store in West End. We hoped to hop on the free bicycles, but the seats were all too high for me and despite efforts by two hotel workers, the rusted seats would not budge.

Finally, one of the men offered to take us to the store in his own car. There is one taxi, but he was not answering the call. Phil gave the driver money and we took the short ride along sandy roads, past small houses with broken gates, brief views of the ocean beyond the scrubby bushes, and finally turned into the small lot in front of the Express Food Market. All along the route, the driver honked and waved at every human we passed. “Do you know everyone here?” Phil asked.

“Of course. Lived here my whole life. I went to school with all these guys,” he said. He offered to wait while we shopped. The small store was packed full of merchandise, with a small amount of produce (potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, zucchini), some dairy items but no eggs, and shelves of rice, noodles, pasta, boxed crackers, canned goods and even spices. There were no meat substitutes in the freezer case, but that didn’t surprise us. We spent $28 and got what we needed.

On our last day at the marina, I decided to do laundry in the marina laundromat. Only two out of the eight machines were working and three very cooperative women were juggling loads. I could not believe the kindness and helpfulness of these women. One was a local patron, and one was our dock neighbor. We coordinated our washer loads, rushed the dryers, transferred loads for each other, and chatted outside during wait times. It was the most fun I’ve ever had doing laundry. At the end, Phil hiked over and brought me a cold “sonds” from Banana Hammock. (He also told me what a “banana hammock” is.)

*Old Bahama Bay Resort and Marina is a full service resort, with hotel rooms as well as slips. This is the shared pool, looking north toward the ocean.*

The Old Bahama Bay Marina is a bit expensive. They charge 2.50/ft per night plus .70/ft for electricity and a mandatory $20/day for water. For the sake of our screaming credit cards, we planned to leave this marina as soon as the strong winds subsided. The winds blew over 20 kts. for four days. Finally, after five nights here, we were ready to tuck in to a protected anchorage just four miles away.

I was ready to be alone with Phil at anchor. Marina life is social, with neighbors in close proximity. I like a little respite from the rest of humanity once in a while. But everyone here — at this marina and in the community — was kind, friendly, and helpful. From the woman on the fuel dock to the man who drove us to the food market, to the servers in the pool bar, to the women at the laundry, we were treated to the kindness of strangers. That’s what I will remember about Old Bahama Bay.

Under the Boom

Chronicles of S/V Catmandu (and Catnip, too)