A Slow Day in Nassau and a Leaping Stingray

Nassau – 6 kilometres walked, 2 miles in dinghy

We started the day early, leaving well before 8am for the grocery store to provision the boat for the upcoming week. After getting what we needed we returned to the boat to unload, but as we were riding in the dinghy we saw a stingray leap out of the water, right in front of us, maybe three feet in the air, in a perfect arc, then plunged back into the water. We’d seen glimpses of rays doing this a few times, but never a full view up close. It was incredible.

Our friend Ruth met us at Starbucks for a long coffee date and we told her about our experiences in Eleuthera and our plans for the coming week. We are starting to feel like locals here, grocery shopping, meeting friends for coffee, doing everything locals do except pay bills and go to work.

The small anchorage which we’d previously thought was crowded with three boats now had no less than a dozen anchored vessels, many close together. With the winds shifting north our rudder was getting dangerously close to the shallow water so we repositioned ourselves to give us more depth and lay out another 30 feet of chain as a precaution. What you don’t want is for your anchor to slip in the middle of the night and find yourself blown into shore, frantic in your skivvies trying to motor out of the sand and mud.

I topped up our water tanks from the spare jugs while Ana sanded and stained the wooden rails on the companionway and epoxied some cracks and holes that had appeared on the boat in various places, one on the stern going back to Bimini where we smashed the dinghy into the boat while trying to unground ourselves. We also did a run to Potters Cay to fill up our water jugs from the public tap and met a few of the ragtag but friendly cast of characters who hang around there.

The rest of the day was quiet – we had a long and long overdue call with Kate and Ben, made pasta and fried sweet plantains for dinner, watched part of a movie, then called it a night.

Taking Advantage of Good Sailing Winds

Spanish Wells – 43 nautical miles sailed

With an approaching cold front set to drop temperatures and jack wind speeds, we took advantage of the southeasterlies today to make the run back to Nassau. That’s the thing with sailing, it’s okay to have a general plan, but you have to watch the weather and be ready to change plans without hesitation.

Our friends Dave and Kira arrive on Saturday so we are really hoping the consistently good weather we have been enjoying keeps up, but it does look like a couple of cold fronts are on the horizon, including some rain early next week. No matter what the weather, good company means good times.

We left Spanish Wells around 9am and had an excellent sail, having to use the motor only for a short while as we had both sails up catching the 15 to 17 knot winds the entire way, reaching boat speeds of 8 knots a few times which is close to SeaLight's maximum hull speed. The ride was uneventful – saw some flying fish, but did not get any action on the fishing lures I trailed behind the boat the entire time. I’m starting to think maybe the fish only feed early in the morning or at dusk as my fruitless fishing has been happening in the heat of the day. Or maybe I’m just not cut out for ocean fishing.

The only problem we did have is when we were deploying the headsail it had a sag in it and despite winching it in, I could not get it set right. Then Ana looked up the deck and saw that we had forgotten to close the front hatch and the sheet line was caught in it, applying massive pressure to the hinges. We loosened the sheet, went to the front and untangled it, then got it set properly. Once anchored in Nassau we had a better look at it and found the screws holding down one of the hinges had been ripped out of the deck, leaving a sizeable gap for water to enter. I was able to find some thicker screws, coat them in silicone, then reattach the hatch. Dumping a few buckets of water on it produced no drips so the repair seems to be okay. To prevent a future occurrence I’ve added “Close front hatches if sailing” to my departure checklist.

We were able to claim the same anchorage close to Nassau we had last time, which was a minor miracle as the larger Montague anchorage east of there was closed to boats for a scheduled regatta this weekend, so we were sure it would be full. By the time we were anchored and settled it was already after 4pm so there wasn’t time to do much else besides cook dinner, make a meal plan for our visitors, inventory food on the boat for our provisioning run tomorrow, then sit in the cockpit for an hour, enjoying the night lights and sounds of Nassau. I did manage to catch a picture of the menacing sky monster peeking at me over the top of a boat anchored nearby.

White Bahamians and Scenes From Spanish Wells

Spanish Wells – 8 kilometres walked

We spent the day walking the island and doing a few boat jobs. Dark clouds began circling in the morning, threatening rain all day, but when it did come it was just a sprinkling.

A few images of the day. Kathi frying Johnny Cakes on a cast iron pan while pushing a sheet of dough rolls into the small oven at Kathi’s Bakery, running since 1989, and nothing more than a small addition to her house with a stove, counter, and fridge. Schoolchildren at recess playing in an immaculate schoolyard playground. Three disc golf targets, nestled into a park bordered by a church, a cemetery, and an oasis of palm trees. A box of Fruit Loops at the grocery store for US$9.35. A chicken we startled jumps up and four tiny sat-on chicks appear, hopping, tripping, and scurrying to catch up to their mom. As we walk the tidy streets, every local in a golf cart or car gives us the one or sometimes two finger wave and a nod. A lady in a creamy dress on the porch, senior of seniors, waves at us from her blue house and smiles kindly. Ana straightens up the caulking mess I made in the head as recaulking was overdue. I slide cotter rings into the stainless steel rigging turnbuckles, as the ones previously installed have disappeared. As suggested by the owner, at high tide we stand on the floating dock of our Adventurer Marina under a dropping sun and spray fresh water into the sea, hoping to attract the manatee that regularly lives under the dock. From SeaLight’s cockpit I hear two sonic booms from the SpaceX rocket landing near Eleuthera. Ana wears earbuds and sits at the laptop as she participates in the Newport Yacht Club board meeting until late at night, scratching intermittently at her no-seeum bites.

Spanish Wells is an interesting part of the Bahamas as 80% to 90% of the permanent residents are white. And white Bahamians constitute only 10% of the overall population of the Bahamas. White settlers originally came from England, Ireland, and Scotland, but also the US and other Caribbean islands. Many of the residents of Spanish Wells have a certain common look that is difficult to describe, as is their unusual accent. If you were to run into a Spanish Wellian somewhere else in the world and heard them speaking, you would not have any idea where they were from. It’s an interesting mix of Bahamian patois, British English, and southern American drawl. Ana and I spent many moments here just listening to people talking. It is very different from the black Bahamian accent, which seems fairly consistent across the different islands, but all Bahamians seem to communicate with each other just fine, although visitors don’t have a clue what anybody is saying when they really get going.

Tomorrow we plan to leave the dock at Spanish Wells for one of the nearby anchorages to see if we can find some fish and lobsters.

A Tour of Spanish Wells, Surprise Beach, and a Visit From a Manatee

Spanish Wells – 2 nautical miles sailed, 4 miles in dinghy, 2 kilometres walking, 2 miles by paddleboard

I woke up at my regular time, feeling great. After a bit of writing I took the dinghy out to the reefs north of the anchorage. There was almost no wind as we were between weather systems and the water was flat and beautiful, broken only by the wakes of the passing fishing boats.

The reef was decent but the water clarity was not great, likely churned up by the winds of the past few days. I saw a few fish, but nothing worth shooting at, and could find no sign of lobster. Still, it was good to be in the water as I hadn’t snorkelled for a while.

After breakfast we took the dinghy back into the fuel dock to say goodbye to Catherine and John, who were on their way to Hatchet Bay, Eleuthera to meet up with their friend who lives there and is a caviar and champagne importer. Really. Catherine had texted Ana in the morning and told her they had arranged for a night of free docking for us at the slip they had prepaid for at least another week but wouldn’t be needing it. We’ll take that.

Unfortunately the lobsters had already been unloaded from the lobster boat so we didn't get to see that, but it worked out well as the big boy pulled away just as John and Catherine were arriving. We helped them dock then hung around while they fuelled up and filled their water tanks from the amazing RO system there which is in place primarily for the lobster processing plant, but is also available to cruisers for 50 cents a gallon. I asked the local man filling it about the presence of manatees in Spanish Wells and he told me there were no manatees anywhere in the Bahamas when he was younger, but they’d somehow found their way here over the years, and there were a number of these beautiful sea cows to be found in the channel, even young ones. The prospect of seeing manatees again was thrilling. After our chat, I browsed the seafood store and found grouper, lobster meat, and conch, all for US$20/pound. They also had larger bags of crab claws which were $120. On the top shelf was a giant lobster tail, and a photo of the local lady who had captured the beast just off the reefs here in Spanish Wells a few years before. It was a 14 pound lobster with a tail that weighed over 4 pounds, and they had kept the giant frozen tail trophy in the freezer since then.

After saying goodbye to our new friends and watching them sail down the channel towards the harbour entrance, we dinghy’d over to Pinders Supermarkeet and tied up at the dinghy dock then went for a walk. We visited a few shops, deposited a bag of aluminum cans at the local public school which has a collection facility there (the only such place we’ve discovered in the Bahamas), I picked up a couple of ultra-cheesy Spanish Wells postcards, bought fresh milk, and we found a great book exchange. The town is extraordinarily clean and well kept, and John had told us to avoid locking anything up as the locals are insulted by this. As we walked we saw open doors, keys in golf carts and cars, valuables in the open, no locks anywhere. Small town life still exists.

Ana and I returned to SeaLight, had lunch, then sailed back in and docked at Adventurers marina. A beautiful and protected channel runs through Spanish Wells, creating a mangrove wonderland between it and Russell Island and Charles Island to the south. My poor paddleboard had been suffering from disuse so I removed it from the deck and launched it while Ana ground through some yacht club work in the hot cabin. I paddled all the way to the western end of the channel, passing surfacing turtles and inviting gaps in the mangroves leading to other anchorages, but sadly no manatees. At the end of the channel I was surprised to find a small bridge to Russell Island and an opening to the sea, so I passed beneath the bridge and the channel opened up into a huge and shallow bay with delicious beaches on both sides. I landed the paddleboard on the shallows, becoming shallower by the minute with the dropping tide, and walked through the ankle-deep water for a while, wishing Ana was here with me to see it, then realized I could just go back and get her, so I jumped back on board and paddled back to SeaLight.

We rode the dinghy and when we returned I was surprised to see the shallows I had been walking in had transformed into a massive offshore beach. We pulled the dinghy onto it then walked, first across the sand, then through the shallows which went on and on and on. We crossed through a knee-deep channel back to the mainland where we found two swings suspended from posts mounted into the dry sand, that would become foot-deep water before long. A passing couple offered to take a photograph of us, in an image that is sure to be one of our favourites from the trip.

We had a little swim then got back in the dinghy and motored carefully as the water had become even shallower. As I scanned the bottom, looking for the deepest path, I suddenly saw something large off our bow – a manatee! I cut the engine and stopped the boat. We could see the bubbles breaking on the surface and the swirling patterns in the water from its tail movements as it came towards us. Then, we could see it perfectly – a juvenile manatee, still big, maybe five feet long, but tiny compared to an adult, and already had a few propellor scars on its back plus a smear of blue bottom paint. She passed right beside our boat and we could see her whiskered face so clearly, but also her front flippers, the scars, and her mermaid tail. We floated alongside her for a long time, watching her rooting up sea grass with her nose and sucking it in. We then lost sight of her so I started splashing my hand in the water. Sure enough, she approached again and brought her face right up to my hand where I was able to have the faintest touch on her nose before she had a look at us then descended. We could not believe our luck. We’d seen many manatees back in Vero Beach, but none nearly this close, and her details were just as beautiful as we’d imagined.

The only unfortunate aspect of the experience was that Stella was not here to see it. She would have fallen in love with her.

Harbour Island to Spanish Wells

Harbour Island to Spanish Wells – 13 nautical miles sailed, 2 miles in dinghy

I didn’t even open my eyes until 8:30. I staggered, blurry eyed, to the stove and fired up the kettle, trying to recall if anybody had fallen off the boat last night or if we were all present and accounted for. I wasn’t sure, but the dinghy was up in the davits and there was no sign of disorder so I assumed everything was cool.

The next to surface was Catherine, who joined me in the cockpit and we chatted for a while, enjoying the predictable, but welcome, morning sunshine. Ana arrived next, then John and we assembled in the cabin to recount the evening’s event while Ana and I made pancakes and scrambled eggs.

The breakfast helped the healing process along and soon we were underway, headed back to Spanish Wells after our plundering of Harbour Island. The strong winds east yesterday had shifted south, which was good for our Devil’s Backbone passage, but had left large swells that rolled and rocked the boat as we twisted through the narrow spots with waves breaking on coral on both sides at times. We made it through but it was a little scarier than last time.

Just before entering the narrow channel of Spanish Wells from the east are six mooring balls, but unfortunately all of these were already taken by boats, so instead we pulled up to Ronald’s Service fuel dock which was closed Sundays, hoping we could stay. We tied up the boat, tried calling all the numbers we could find for Ronald with no results, then drove John and Catherine in the dinghy back to their boat, passing at least ten surfacing turtles along the way. There was talk of happy hour at the nearby Wreckers Pub, but everybody was feeling and looking a little spent so I had my doubts.

Ana had a nap in the afternoon while I sat in the cockpit doing some writing, listening to music, and allowing myself to be regularly distracted by the many fishing boats passing by. This is the fishing and lobstering centre of the Bahamas, and a real Bahamian working town as there are no resorts on Spanish Wells, just small guesthouses. As I was tapping on the keyboard a man came up to the boat and said hello. I found out he was Kyle the owner and I apologized for taking up space on his fuel dock but explained we had tried to contact him. He was totally cool and said it would normally be fine for us to stay here but he was expecting a lobster boat to return tonight, with anywhere between 10,000 and 60,000 pounds of lobster tails, and it would required the entire dock. Despite being officially closed on Sunday he was happy to fill up my jerry cans with gasoline for the dinghy and also found me another dock we could rent for the night if we wanted to. We chatted while he filled up the gas and he gave me a rundown of how the lobster boats work, how long they stay out for, and how they catch the lobsters. He was also the owner of the lobster processing plant and seafood store located right behind the fuel dock. I asked if he could give us a tour of the plant, and he said he’d love to but there are strict regulations in place for food processing and non-employees were not allowed within the building. But I did plan to return the next morning to see them offloading the lobster boat.

We sailed out to a nearby anchorage called Gun Point and were admittedly relieved when Happy Hour with Catherine and John was called off due to extreme exhaustion. We enjoyed our quiet night on SeaLight and were asleep earlier than usual. 

A Crazy Day (and Night) On Harbour Island

Harbour Island – 6 miles in dinghy, 4 kilometres walked

It was 3:45 am when John and I flopped back onto SeaLight after a sketchy late night 3-mile dinghy ride, this time to drop off our new friend Chris the music engineer/inventor/solar entrepreneur/bar tour guide at the North Eleuthera dinghy dock. It had been an eventful day in Harbour Island.

After an exceedingly long and slow cockpit breakfast, the four of us packed up our beach gear and took the dinghy into Valentines where I stopped briefly at the dive shop to check the price on a two tank dive - $275, ouch! We then sauntered across the island to the pink sand beach, where we nabbed some beach loungers and sat down to enjoy the heat from the clear skies countered by the cooling breeze blowing in steadily from the east, kicking up the surf and rendering useless the snorkelling gear we had brought along.

I decided on a solo walk so started southwards down the perfect beach. I thought about a lot of things as I walked, enjoying the silence and time to reflect. I watched my feet making perfect impressions in the sand, laying permanent marks on the beach, marks that would be there forever and any future person fortunate enough to walk this perfect beach would see them. But then I stopped, turned, and looked back. A large wave broke low on the beach and the water rushed up the shore. I imagine this to be a generation of life. The ocean water spilled sand into my footprints, but they were still visible. I remained motionless, watching, as a second large wave, another generation of life, broke and ran up the beach, gently filling the rest of the footprints. They were gone. No trace of my visit remained. I imagined those footprints to be the things I do in life, the marks I make on the world, the impact I have on people, my accomplishments, my failures, my victories, my losses. All the things I have done and will ever do, erased and forgotten by the inevitable passage of time. I imagined thousands of footprints of others, like mine, all similarly stamped then washed away. I visualized larger and more significant footprints, left by people of greater consequence than me. These did survive many waves but eventually filled in and disappeared. This is the way of life. This is the way of time. These are the things I thought about as I walked.

After returning to my people and relaxing for a while, I asked Ana what time it was.

“Three.”

“Three??” I asked, shocked, as it felt like noon.

"Three,” confirmed John, then added, “And three rhymes with V!”

So we got up and walked over to Mrs. V’s for a round of cold bevvies and a failed attempt at procuring some deep fried snacks. Along the way we passed a lady walking on the beach.

“I think that’s Brooke Shields,” whispered Ana to Catherine.

“Hmmm, I think you may be right,” she replied as they both looked back. “I thought we’d be more likely to see her on Blue Lagoon Island.”

We decided to head back to SeaLight for an early dinner but stopped at the Rock House to check out details of the sandwich board advertisement for live music tonight. Besides the ancient stone staircase leading up the entrance, there was nothing beautiful about this place, but when we entered, we found an oasis of greenery, an outdoor lounge area, classy restaurant, and James Bond bar with accompanying lap pool with dining tables winding around it. A server told us the local band would be starting sometime around 5:30. We’d be back.

In our absence, Valentine’s had been attacked and overtaken by a mob of pirates, but the pirates were unusually clean, smiling, not covered in blood, and half of them were sexy lady pirates carrying plastic weapons so the whole thing looked suspect. Upon further investigation we learned it was a pirate wedding.

“I wish I could have had a pirate wedding,” I said, with a dreamy look in my eye.

“I didn’t even know it was an option,” said John.

“IT’S NOT!” snapped both of the ladies together. “No bride would ever agree to that,” Ana added.

So who was this mystical, fun-loving, adventurous, one in a million bride that allowed a pirate wedding? John had to know.

“Where’s the bride and groom?” John asked the pirate with a blacked-out tooth, carrying a plastic cutlass.

“No bride. Two grooms.”

It all made sense. We nodded at each other, glad to have solved the mystery, then John and I mentally shelved our plans for pirate-themed vows renewals.

Back at SeaLight, there was a flurry of showers, a frenzy of pork chop cooking, a slashing of vegetables, a mashing of potatoes, and a pouring of wine. Before we knew it, we were back on land, in the dark, heading for Rock House. And it did not disappoint. I looked around as we lounged at the poolside bar, taking a small break from our lively conversation about sailboats, trip planning, and life. Every dining table was full, with privileged resort visitors wearing suits, dresses, and upscale items of clothing far removed from my grey shorts, flip flops, and button-up Hawaiian shirt, third day on. The Edison lights strung from fascia shone a perfect yellow hazy hue on the diners as they cracked lobster, cracked conch, cracked high class jokes, and cracked out their billfolds to pay the stratospheric bills. The barkeepers wore suits and bow ties. The cocktails were outrageously expensive and perfect. The music was carefully curated, far better than the local band in the outdoor entrance gallery whose setlist was flimsy and talents developing. I felt like an intruder, but was not looked upon as one, as everybody was welcome here. But there was more to discover in the darkness of Harbour Island so we left and walked down to the street to The Elbow Room, the watering hole for locals, drawing them in with fantastic music and (slightly) cheaper drinks.

It took about 30 seconds for us to make friends. I sat on the concrete fence talking to a guy from Vancouver who had lived all over Canada, then France for 12 years, then Miami, then back to Europe, then had settled in North Eleuthera a decade ago and ran a small construction company. My three companions met an outlandish Scottish couple who’d been living here for thirty years. The wife was a close talker, maintained an authentic Scottish accent despite leaving there at the age of six, and had an enthusiastic chest that wanted to reach out and touch someone, and frequently did. More people came, mostly locals but some visitors too, and it became a beehive of activity with golf carts haphazardly abandoned on the street. We met Chris, an American turned local, who latched onto us and told tales of solar panel entrepreneurship, inventing CLASP musical recording technology, engineering albums for KISS and Aerosmith, writing music, and hanging out regularly with his neighbour Lenny Kravitz. He sounded like a world class bullshitter, then as he was scanning his phone to show us photos of his lovely three young daughters, I couldn’t help but notice one of him with Lenny in a recording studio, one of him with Gene and Paul, and one of him with the whole Aerosmith band standing behind a table holding the Stanley Cup. This was one interesting dude.

Chris suggested we go next door to The Landing as he'd always found it a good place to meet interesting people. What we found there was another classy bar, with dozens of tables of rich folk dining, another sublime lap pool, and the airbrushed iconic image of the owner’s mom – a previous Miss Bahamas, in a fabulous afro, stamped everywhere. Here, we had drinks, got more details on Chris’s interesting life, spoke for length to a young local teen in a spectacular purple sweatsuit about life in Harbour Island, and ran into the husband of Brooke Shields, who apologized for his wife not being there, as she had just traveled and wasn’t feeling up to it. We also got wind of a live concert this evening, at a place called Vic-Hum, where a reggae band was supposed to be playing but DJ Khaled was expected to drop by as well.

We hit a juncture as we left The Landing. Where next? Catherine seemed to be nosing in the direction of the dinghy. Ana wasn’t sure. John and I just stood there, pleasantly pissed.

“Who’s taking the lead here?” asked Ana.

“Not me,” said John. “I’m just following, not making any decisions.”

“Me neither. I'll just follow the fun,” I said, nodding at John.

“Well…” said Ana, struggling.

“Let’s go back to the The Elbow Room,” said Chris. Nobody disagreed. Everybody followed.

There we had more drinks, met more people, including a dashing local dude named Melvin, and grooved to the fast flowing beats in the hotbed of activity. The evening breeze was warm, the lighting was perfect, we kept meeting more people, and time had lost all meaning.

“Time to move on,” announced Chris. “We’re going to Gusty’s, jump in a golf cart!” Suddenly half the people in the bar headed for the street and piled into randomly selected golf carts and took off. Chris found an empty seat on one. The four of us weren’t sure what to do until Melvin came wheeling by, alone. “Jump in,” he said. We claimed seats and held on as Melvin moved at top speed through the paved then gravel streets, dodging potcake dogs, chickens, and other golf carts piloted by drunken drivers.

To everybody’s shock, Gusty’s was closed, so the parade of carts rattled down a different street to reach club Vic-Hum, where every single person on Harbour Island under the age of 50 had gathered. There was a queue, security guards frisking people, and people of all stripes, shapes, and sizes carrying drinks and goofing around. We’d learned the tickets were fifty bucks, but Chris said he knew the owner and could get us in for free. Well, he couldn’t find the owner and folks in the crowd told us the show wasn’t even going to start for another hour or two and it was already well after midnight.

We looked to our tour guide. He was trying to procure a marijuana joint but could find no sellers.

“Chris,” Ana said. “Let’s go back to our boat for more drinks.”

“OK, but if you see anybody selling joints along the way, just let me know,” he said, then took the lead and we followed him through dark, narrow streets which popped up right back at Valentines, which was now, like everywhere else on the island except Vic-Hum, dark and deserted.

The party continued in SeaLight’s cockpit as we drank rum and cokes, warm beer (had forgotten to stock fridge) and wine as Chris entertained us with tales of his exploits with Lenny Kravitz, showed us videos of him and Gene Simmons in the studio, and listened to one of the tracks he’d been working on for his album. Time had not regained any meaning.

The girls slipped away around 2:30am and we stayed up a bit longer with Chris then jumped in the dinghy for the sketchy ride across the choppy bay to drop him off at the ferry dock on North Eleuthera. We said our sloppy goodbyes, bounced and sloshed back across the bay, then crossed the finish line for the day at precisely 3:45 am, setting a new late night record for our epic trip, thereby making it even more epic.

Navigating the Devil’s Backbone to Harbour Island

Meeks Patch to Spanish Wells to Harbour Island – 13 nautical miles sailed, 1 mile in dinghy, 5 kilometres walked

We’ve gotten ourselves worked up a few times on this trip based on information we’ve sourced from Facebook and other online forums. One was the availability of water in the Bahamas, which was said to be scarce, expensive, and of poor quality. We’ve found the exact opposite. Another was the horrors of crossing the Gulf Stream. We chose a less than ideal weather window, but it really wasn’t that bad. A third was the exorbitant cost of things in the Bahamas. Well, Nassau groceries, meals, and drinks are no more expensive than what we found in south Florida. And many things are cheaper.

Then, there’s the Devil’s Backbone. This is a stretch of densely packed coral reefs and rocks that run along the north coast of Eleuthera and must be transited to reach the renowned settlement of Harbour Island. The majority of cruising guides and online discussions strongly advise hiring a local pilot for $150 to guide you through the passage. I reviewed the recommended track and did not see anything worse than many of the tricky passages we’ve made on this trip in both the Bahamas and through tight spots on the ICW. But still…we were hesitant.

I checked the wind forecast for the day, which called for steady east winds, which are favourable for this passage. I looked at the tides and found that if we left around 10:30 we’d get more than half a tide which would boost depths by two feet plus the overhead mid-day sunlight would make it easy to spot coral heads. The trip was a go!

There’s no more pleasurable way to start your day than by climbing a sailboat mast. I ascended the aluminum spar like an aged chimpanzee as Ana cranked on the winch to pick up the slack on the halyard attached to my bosun's chair. I reached the first spreader where I reconnected the faulty shroud turnbuckle then secured it with cotter rings, and did the same on the other side. Job done, no drama.

We pulled the anchor and motored over to near the entrance to Spanish Wells harbour, reanchored, then I dinghy’d over to sailing vessel Adventure to pick up John and Catherine, dodging the many turtles along the way as they popped their green heads up for a gulp of air. As experienced boaters, John and Catherine had packed all the right stuff – fresh vegetables, small soft backpacks, and a bunch of beer and wine.

After a quick tour of SeaLight and group review of the proposed route we were off. John shared the same opinion that the passage simply did not look that difficult. So with three independent devices and eight eyes tracking our course, we began the trip. As we approached the Devil’s Backbone I was expecting to encounter walls of jagged coral reaching up from the sea in all directions, menacing rock spikes, limestone towers of ancient rock dropping shards into the water, skewering any passing boats. But to nobody’s surprise, it was easy. There was no exposed coral and we simply followed the recommended magenta line on the chart and it was spot on. I didn’t even see any depths under twelve feet until we had passed the end of it and sailed into the shallow harbour. The route took us quite close to shore, but not nearly as close as we had sailed leaving Cape May, where there were jagged and dangerous rocks on shore which I could have hit with a tossed lemon. And not nearly as tight as some of the hairpin curves on the ICW where we were persistently close to grounding. And far easier than many of the of the narrow, scary, rocky, and shallow passages we twisted through in the North Channel and Georgian Bay. Any sailor who has made it this far, and chooses a good weather day, should have no trouble in the least with this passage.

We anchored in a beautiful spot close to Valentines Marina (appropriate, for Valentine’s Day) then had a light lunch in the cockpit as we visited. John and Catherine are from New Jersey and have been ocean sailors for decades. We quickly found we have many things in common – love of travel, liberal political views, similarly aged kids, a very similar return sailing plan, and some shared annoyances. The conversation was easy as we bounced from topic to topic.

We took the dinghy into Valentines, passing a couple of nurse sharks sucking up snacks from the sea bottom, and tied up at their free dock. Harbour Island is known for its pink sand beaches, cute streets, golf carts, and classic island vibe. I visited here once, many years ago, but I really didn’t remember much about it besides my first introduction to the “nail game” at a local bar where they had strung a small wire loop from a string and you had to swing it just right to latch it onto a hook on the wall. I played it for hours.

Our first big decision after walking up past the bar and onto the skinny street was right or left. We chose right, and soon saw a sign as a cross street saying “Rest of Island This Way <--”. As we walked we were passed by dozens of golf carts, driven by both locals and visitors. There was a much greater density of development here compared to what we’d seen in the Exumas – many shops, restaurants, service companies, schools, and well maintained houses painted with vibrant colours. We reached the beach and bought a round of drinks from Mrs. V’s then sat at her shaded picnic tables to enjoy the view. Now the famous pink sand beach is not a vibrant pink flamingo colour as we were expecting, but upon walking along the water the pink colour becomes apparent, especially the part of the beach where the waves slide up and down and little trails of pink flour sand tickle your toes.

We walked a good distance on the beach then cut in at a resort high on a hill where we stopped for another drink and to enjoy the spectacular ocean views. The entire shoreline is protected by a thick reef which breaks up the waves and provides for unusually calm water, perfect for swimming. Tomorrow may have to be a beach day.

Our slow wanderings took us through many streets in Harbour Island and we found a series of free public taps (which I plan to use Sunday before our return trip to top up our water tanks) near the small Fish Fry and Straw Market.

With our first small taste of Harbour Island we returned to SeaLight for an unusually long and immensely enjoyable sundowner, then got to work on a late dinner, where we all pitched in – I mixed up fritter batter and sauce and hammered down then minced the stubborn rubber conch meat, Ana made coleslaw, Caribbean rice, and fried the fritters, Catherine chopped all the vegetables, and John finished things up with searing rich salmon filets on a hot pan with a blanket of fresh organic bok choy and onions. What a feast! Our cockpit dinner was long, slow, and tastefully decorated with springy conversation and views of the colourful lights glowing from the bars, restaurants, and resorts along the shoreline.

By 10:30 I was finished so I slipped away to bed while the others finished up their tea, putting the wraps on a magnificent day.