Of the thousands of islands, cays, and rocks that make up the Bahamas, only 30 are populated (though I assume this often published figure counts only those with settlements, and not the many privately owned islands). Enjoying an island that we have all to ourselves is one of our favorite things about the Bahamas.
As we approach a destination, I look for the masts of other boats peeking out from above the rocky shores and scraggly shrubs. “Wow, there are a lot of boats here!” is sometimes the somewhat disappointed cry, but often from afar, what looks to be 10 boats crowded in a little anchorage turns out to be 10 boats spread out, tucked in among various small rocks and cays, with their crew on board, leaving the islands for us to enjoy alone.
As we entered the cut at White Cay, the depth of the water drop from 50 feet to under 20, and suddenly the water was bright blue against the white cliffs of the cays and we could see the sandy bottom and bits of coral. I turned to Dave, “This is so beautiful! I can’t believe it!”
The turn of the boat into the cut meant we were suddenly taking waves on the side and the boat rocked. Down below, unable to see what was happening, Naomi looked alarmed by the sudden movement. “Don’t worry, we just turned,” I told her. “We’re here. Come on up. It’s gorgeous!” The landscape of the islands is more dramatic in the Berries than the northern Bahamas. I love it.
We weaved among the anchored boats and dropped our anchor in a sandy patch west the rest. Of course, a lone boat is like a magnet, so once we did this, several boats that came in later anchored closer to us. However, we have a 4 foot draft, less than most cruising sailboats, so this allows us some privacy as we can go where some others cannot.
Off to the beach we went! A white – almost pink – sand beach on White Cay beckoned us. Paul shuttled his parents to the beach with their snorkels and then came back for me. Like it often does, the clear water looked empty from above, but once we plunged beneath the surface with our masks, we could see all the little white fish that hide in the shimmer of the water. Between the rocks, we found a healthy patch of corals and plenty of fish, including a file fish that our fish ID book says is uncommon to see in the Bahamas.
It was approaching sunset when Paul dinghied his parents back to Miss Fe, and for a few minutes, I was queen of my own island. I ran up the hills, climbed the rocks facing the ocean, and just laughed out loud because how in the world did I get this all to myself?!
When Paul and I were in the dinghy, another boat yelled, “Beautiful sunset, right?” so we stopped to talk. The single-handed sailor told us about all the fish he caught that day and all the sharks that followed the fish to his boat.
Dave and Naomi relaxed in the cockpit. Paul planned our adventures from his berth. I cooked dinner on our 3-burner stove in our little galley. There is excellent cell phone service over most of the Bahamas, but this was one of the rare signal-less pockets that frees you from that distraction.
In the morning, we headed to a small beach on Hoffmans Cay where a trail begins. Between our boat and the beach, there was only sand and grass but plenty of critters seemed to be passing through – Paul spotted a shark; I eyed the biggest needlefish we’ve ever seen, at first mistaking it for a barracuda.
The barely-there trail lead us to this area’s main attraction – a blue hole. The trail leads to the edge of a small cliff, about 20 feet above the water’s surface. Continuing along the edge of the cliff, we found the trail goes beneath the cliff so you can enter at water’s edge. Paul insisted that I jump from the cliff. I climbed up. I hesitated. He offered to go first. He climbed up. He hesitated! (We’ve both had negative cliff jumping experiences in the past.) He shimmied to a lower ledge and we both jumped from there. I tried not holding my nose but instinctively did anyway, and then I tried to let go of my nose and ended up swallowing a ton of water! Bleh!
We snorkeled the blue hole, admiring the rocks, but you can’t see the bottom in most places. We spotted a sea turtle and followed him until he disappeared into the depths. We wondered where the hole opens to the sea to let him in there.
When we were done swimming, we ran back to the beach to escape the no-see-ums swarming around the the blue hole. There were sting rays hanging out in the shallows. Dave named one of them Fred.
Paul took Dave and me to the deep side of White – he dropped us in and we swam with the current, admiring some large stands of coral and plenty of trigger fish, until I got cold and waved Paul over to pick us up.
We headed back to yesterday’s beach and walked over the rocks to dry off. There are hermit crabs EVERYWHERE – on the trails, rolling down hills, climbing in the bushes. We were fascinated and careful not to step on them! The curly tailed lizards ran around, waiting until you were nearly on top of them to reveal themselves and scurry away.
We watched an awesome sunset from the boat. We heard the radio crackle with boats calling for Flo’s Conch Bar – a bar miles away that sits by itself on an island – I’m not certain if the owner even lives there. Though we were curious about the bar, the last weather forecast we’d seen indicated that sooner rather than later would be better for travel, so we skipped the famous rum punches and headed for Nassau the next day.
This would be our last “deep water” passage for a while, and Paul was glad to be getting these 40 miles over with so he didn’t have to think about them any more. Swells were large enough to rock the boat a bit, but not so large that I should have been seasick, yet for some reason I was feeling the queasiest I’ve ever felt on our boat. I spent most of the day down below closing my eyes while Paul and Dave took turns steering. The wind was light and we, like all the other boats within view, started with sails up but soon took them down to motor.
Sometimes we wonder what strange things we may encounter at sea. I was sitting on the bow of the boat, staring out at something suspicious.
“Is there a boat ahead?” Paul asked me.
“No…. but there’s a funnel cloud forming.”
As a kid, I loved the movie Twister, and thought being a tornado chaser was cool (though scary). Never did I expect that it would be sailing that would expose me to that type of natural wonder.
Eyes glued to the sky, we watched the clouds swirl, and indeed the funnel cloud began to stretch from the sky towards the water, directly in our path…
