Location: Green Turtle Cay
The ride from Spanish Cay to Green Turtle was a short one, a mere twelve miles. We sailed the majority of the way, without the engine we were going six knots. It was the first time Dad and I had just sailed in a month. It was extremely relaxing. Before this trip started the idea of sailing with the engine on was torture. The noise and the fumes ruin the experience. I had forgotten how enjoyable it could be. Having a third personality on the boat helped Dad and I remember that the journey is the best part of the experience.
When we were just a few miles from Green Turtle I remembered that when we cleared customs we received a fishing license. I have been dying to catch a fish that we can cook and eat. I love the idea of being completely self sufficient, even if I have to lie to myself a little in order to believe it. Fifteen minutes after we dropped in the hook the line began to sing. That zing is one of the best sounds in the world. Jack reeled in a barracuda. It was pretty cool, but not exactly what I was hoping for since it wasn't edible.
As we started to come up on Green Turtle Dad, Jack, and I all kept our eyes peeled for Black Sound harbor. It wasn't easy. The water throughout the Bahamas is so shallow that big ships can't travel to the majority of the islands. This means that there is no money flowing in from the waterways, so there is no financial incentive to mark or chart them. Our electronic charts are fine tools while we are traveling the longer distances between each island but trying to zoom in to see the finer details of obstacles in a harbor is impossible. We have been using paper charts quiet frequently since entering the Bahamas. They're not hard to use, it's just a little less certain where exactly on the map you think you are. After wandering around the island edge we started to make our way in. Because of the tall eel grass the depth sounder was useless, it read 0 the entire way in even though we were not on the bottom. Standing on the bow and looking for darker blue water is really the only way to do it. The harbor was perfect, picturesque, and quiet. We brought out the windsurfer first thing and all had a go on it. When we finally made it onto the island the three of us walked into town. Every house was a bright green, pink, or yellow. They all seemed like doll houses, shipped in pieces and then put together on the island. In no time at all Jack found the local dive bar, right on the water. There were a ton of people out for happy hour and to watch the sunset so we joined them. Dad and Jack made friends, I guess I did too but I was the youngest one there by at least twenty years. Jack and Dad found a sailor who had his boat in Black Sound harbor with us. He had auto pilot problems. The engineers that Dad and Jack are couldn't help but try to dissect this guy's issue, presumably to solve it but they are the variety of D-A-D that enjoy learning even after school. The two of them were like kids in a candy store, listening to symptoms and suggesting the best remedy. I finally got them out of there. The next day we hit the beach. We had originally planned to go through Whale Passage, out past the reefs, and on to Treasure Key. Unfortunately the weather predicted large swells out on the Atlantic and Out into the Atlantic is the only way to get there. The waves were too big to swim really so Dad and I just tanned and read our books. We were the only ones on the beach. Jack went into town to figure out how he could get to Marsh Harbor, where his wife Stephanie will be flying in to meet him and where they will be chartering a Moorings 37 for the week. It turns out the Abacos, the chain of Bahamian islands we are visiting, has a pretty good ferry system at least then run fairly often. The ferries are about twenty feet long and about twenty people pile on them, mostly to get to school or work. It's not exactly a tourist/party boat.
On Sunday we wandered back into town. The place was deserted, most everywhere was closed. The sole person I spotted was a little girl with dark chocolate skin. She was running down the street in a blue dress with pink flowers, her purse slung over her shoulder running toward the singing inside the church. Later that day Dad, Jack, and I heard a pastor on a loud speaker, preaching to an empty lot. For the most part the culture here is undistinguishable from quiet western living, except for the fervent religious nature of island life. The people that live here are so dependent on outside forces and always have been; praying that their food sources arrive on time, praying that the hurricanes will miss them this season, praying for rain. It must be a tremendous comfort for them to believe that a higher power is looking out for them. On the mainland we believe that, for the most part, we can look after ourselves. We only seek divine intervention when things seem to really turn against us.
On Monday Jack left us with the promise that we would meet up in Treasure Cay on Wednesday. In the meantime Dad has been looking into marinas on the island that will haul the boat out for us. When we were in West Palm we caught a dock line on the prop. It wasn't a big deal at all and within ten minutes she was free but it seems to have done some damage to a bearing holding the prop shaft. Now there is a certain speed on the throttle that the shaft doesn't agree with. It vibrates violently, making us both a little wary of traveling the long distance back without fixing her, not that we have plans to turn back anytime soon. We did take some time to visit a second beach on the island, Gilbert's Bay. We brought all our snorkeling gear because we had heard from the locals that you could swim out to a few smaller islands that were surrounded by reefs. This was not the case. We walked on a sand bar for maybe two miles, unable to swim in the shallows. We called it quits promising ourselves that upon our return to Green Turtle we will try this again at high tide.
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