Farewell to the Exumas

Did you ever hear the one about the two backpackers and the grizzly bear? It goes like this.

"Two guys are walking in the woods when they see a grizzly bear beginning to charge. The one hiker pulls off his boots and puts on his running shoes. The other hiker says "Friend, you can't outrun a grizzly bear." The other hiker says, "Yes, I know that, but all I really have to do is outrun you!"

Before we left Compass Cay, Brian and I wanted to snorkel and fish some of the more remote areas. Just to the south inside the cut is an extensive shallow reef system, ranging anywhere from 6 to 15 foot deep. In the normal prevailing winds, the seas outside the cut make it usually too rough for a small dinghy. However, the settled weather spell provided an opportunity to slip outside the cut into the less frequented areas. Once outside the cut, we found a large reef structure in about 20 to 40 feet of water, dropped the hook and plunged in. Quickly realizing that it was just too deep to dive on, we swam on the surface following the reef further offshore. Lots of big fish, colorful, even in the early light. Large coral sections rose up to within 20 feet of the surface on the inshore sections while the outside sections fall off nearly vertically to deep water. We really weren't in the water that long before realizing that while very pretty, we were diving in the deep end of the pool. At six foot, it wasn't even a particularly large shark. And things always look larger under water anyway. But even still, it's not particularly comforting to think that we are no longer at the top of the food chain! I'm not really sure who saw it first, but it's outline was unmistakable. It's long powerful strokes gliding along the reef wall was all we need to see. Our shark didn't seem to notice or perhaps didn't care, but we were outta there! But of course the dinghy anchor happened to be snagged on a rock so one of us had to go back in. Feeling a bit paranoid after our hasty retreat back to the dinghy, I barely had enough breath to dive down to free the anchor. "Back to the shallow end of the pool for us."

As before, we had to wait for the tide to get out of Compass Cay. Compass being such a nice place with so many things to see and do, we were a bit reluctant to leave so soon. But as we could only get out near high tide, and the time of high water was getting rather late in the day, we decided it would be best to get out now. (This of course being an area with diurnal tides, the other high tide would occur during the night when we could not safely travel about.) A more pressing motive to leave for Starlight was that they discovered their propane cooking fuel had run out and so had to travel back to Staniel Cay for a refill. In a state of disappointment, we left Compass late in the day without really having a destination. As the wind was light we ended up having to motor. (Go figure, last week it blew hard nearly every day but this week it was nearly calm every day.) We did try sailing, but could only manage about 2 knots at our best point of sail. Not wanting to motor any further then necessary, we temporarily parted company with Starlight, setting course for the closer anchorage at Sampson Cay.

We had last visited Sampson right after the terrible blow in mid January as Sampson offered great protection from the stiff winds that remained after that storm. Badly damaged by Hurricane Floyd, some repair work was underway even then, but the marina and their small store was open. We were thus surprised to find that both the marina and the store were closed completely to the public for renovations as the large sign proclaimed.

We cheered up a bit when Starlight called us to say that their propane would be ready early the next day and they would not be long delayed and we could head back north to some of the snorkeling spots we'd missed in that area. Joyce and I also formulated a plan to try a snorkeling spot just around the north side of Sampson the next day.

Nearing slack water the next day, Joyce and I dinghied over and discovered a delightful reef, almost as good as anything we'd seen before. Soon after we got in the water, I spotted the telltale antennas of at least one lobster in about 20 feet of water under a shallow ledge. I told Joyce to watch the back side of the ledge for another lobster to come out as it seemed that there must be two lobster seeing as how the antennas were sticking out from both sides of the ledge. It turned out to be only one really big lobster. As I dove done and poked under one side of the ledge, he slid out the other side, now completely in the open. But as I was out of breath, I had to surface, hoping he wouldn't slip away. Watching from the surface while catching my breath for another try, here comes along right below us a rather large nurse shark followed closely by three huge bar jacks. Seeing this, Joyce grabs me thinking maybe we should just leave this lobster be. And I'm thinking that maybe I'm swimming in the deep end again! But knowing that nurse sharks are mostly scavengers and not particularly threatening, we held fast. Besides, our lobster was still sitting out in the open, seemingly waiting for me to come and get him. (Note: If you are squeamish or an animal lover, please skip this next part.) Diving down once again, I was just able to spear him through the body, but could not bring him up with this breath. On the surface again, we watched as the lobster tried to move back in his hole with the spear sticking in him. Joyce was wondering whether I would get my spear back and I was trying hard to catch my breath. Growing increasing fearful that I might lose both, I dove down again but quickly aborted knowing I wouldn't make it. Back on the surface, Joyce now informs me that its just too deep. "Fine time to find this out," I'm thinking, what with both my spear and my lobster still on the bottom. Finally, I gather my breath and my wits, dive down, grab the spear and the lobster and shoot back to the surface.

We put the lobster in the look bucket, and swim off to see more of the reef. From the water, we can see his antennas sticking out of the bucket and all seems okay. But from about 150 feet away, I look back and can no longer see his antennas. Picturing this mad lobster loose in the dinghy with his sharp shell slicing up our rubber inflatable, we make a mad dash back. But once a bit closer, we can see his antennas again, so we relax knowing all is well. We soon become absorbed in the color and variety of the reef. Purple sea fans along with numerous sea rod bend like trees in the surging current. Colorful barrel coral, round mounds of brain coral, sharp branches of fire coral mix among dozens of other varieties that I don't know to create an eclectic backdrop for the hundreds of fish swimming about. We then spy two prehistoric looking creatures, fish of a type that I've never seen. Their round bulbous face contains human looking features, two forward facing eyes, something that looks like a nose and an upturned mouth. The large head tapers smoothly back to a small inconsequential tail. While obviously the same species, the coloring between the two varies greatly; one being an almost solid brown, while the second having a gray checkered pattern. The two are chasing or perhaps following one another in a game resembling following the leader as they swim around and around, up and down. Strange and weird. (We later learn that these are scaleless Porcupine fish, growing to a length of 3-4 feet and able to inflate themselves exposing sharp spines when threatened.)

Heading back to the dinghy, we spot another large lobster under a coral mound. Unsure whether I should try, I make an attempt, spear the lobster but lose him off the spear while trying to pull him out. Not wanting to leave an injured creature, we search at great length but we're unable to see him again under the thick coral head.

Later in the day when Starlight rejoins us at Sampson Cay, Brian and I snorkel the same area and I see my injured lobster, now dead under the same coral head. We bring him out to discover that someone else has been feasting. A portion of the tail has been eaten away, right through the hard shell.

At dinner on Watermark later that evening with Brian and Susan, the two lobster, even with part of one tail missing, are so large as to be almost too much for the four of us to finish. The pile of lobster meat in the bowl is heaped up like mashed potatoes.

We try the same spot the next day, spot a couple of really large groupers, but discover why they've gotten so large. They both have wonderful hiding places. The one hangs out right in front of a hole that on close inspection, looks like a small, deep cave. As soon as he sees us on the surface, he dives into the hole from whence we can discover no more sign of his existence. The other lives under an extensive coral head, one so thick and rich with hiding places that we see him no more.

The next day we take the boats to an area just south of the Exuma Park, our last chance to fish before crossing the park boundary. We anchor for the afternoon at Fowl Cay to snorkel the reefs around this small exposed island. While the snorkeling is very good, the reefs extraordinarily lively, the fish are wary and move just beyond our grasp. So we give up, and motor across the boundary to some other great snorkeling areas of the Rocky Dundas. This place is exceptional, not only for the coral formations and sea life but for the cave and grotto that rivals the one at the more famous Thunderball. Inside the grotto is stalactites and stalagmites proving without a doubt that this area was once above water. Once outside the grotto, we notice a four foot barracuda idling about then going in the grotto himself. Brian then swims up and we send him into the grotto...oh silly us, did we forget to mention the barracuda to Brian. He comes out, tells us the barracuda opened his mouth to reveal all those teeth to which Brian claims he did the same thing back. Wonder who was more frightened?

In the afternoon, we move the big boats 5 miles to the pretty little Bell Island, quite private these days. But the anchorage is protected from the unusual westerly winds so we are quite comfortable. Brian and Susan take Joyce to snorkel the place called the Sea Aquarium. Feeling as though I'm growing gills after the last few days, I decline, preferring for once to lounge around the boat. (Joyce's note: It's too bad Jim didn't go, as I think the Sea Aquarium was one of the best snorkeling places we've seen.)

We're all getting ready for our crossing to Eleuthera in the next few days. All we need is some decent wind. Joyce and I are both sad to leave the Exumas, knowing that a wonderful portion of our trip is ending, and a melancholy moods envelopes the boat. We go through the motions of preparing the boat for sea, putting the dinghy on deck and securing all down below. In the end, we really need not have worried, for the winds continue out of the west the next day and we sail downwind under main and spinnaker. The seas are flat, and unbelievably, no swell is running. It's like sailing in the Chesapeake, all so calm and flat that the cats barely notice that we are moving.

Seaquel has proceeded us to Eleuthera by a day and once we get to within 15 miles, we reach them on the VHF radio. They are anchored in a small basin dubbed 'No Name Harbor' once dredged out for a marina and waterfront development, but the project was abandoned before any structures were built. Having only this or a nearby marina to choose from as a stopping point for the night, we decide to join Seaquel. But even though we have good waypoints, even from 1/3 of mile out, we can not make out the narrow entrance into the harbor from the surrounding rocky beach. So picture us sailing downwind towards and unknown shore, with coral reefs and breaking waves and you start to imagine our nervousness. Fortunately, Starlight is just ahead and they pick out the entrance and make their approach. When it's our turn, we start in and then bail out the first time, Joyce and I disagreeing over which way to take the first shallow rocky bar. We finally sort things out and make our way in, finding Seaquel anchoring amidst the narrow canal-like margins. On our first anchoring attempt, our anchor drags back in the soft silt and we end up uncomfortably close to Seaquel and the bank. We end up putting out two anchors in a V-pattern to insure we don't drag down on Seaquel during the night. But even though we can hear the waves breaking on the beach all during the night, all is calm and quiet inside.

The wind is up a little overnight, blowing still directly and unusually onshore. The sound of the surf, normally one of those sleep inducing white noises causes me to sleep restlessly, knowing that in the morning we have to go back out the way we came. I keep picturing waves breaking completely across our narrow channel and Watermark ending up in the surf. But as we head out, it's not as bad as I feared. The channel, while a bit rough, is manageable. We need the engine not to fail for about 200 yards after which we could sail our way out of trouble if need be. We plunge out, pull up the main, jib, kill the engine and set sail for the settlement of Rock Sound. Joyce asks why I don't put out the fishing gear. I pooh-pooh the idea, claiming that we can't catch anything worthwhile in such shallow water. We soon round the tip of Cape Eleuthera and turn east. With the wind from behind, we douse both the main and jib and set the spinnaker in what becomes a leisurely downwind sail.

About 2 hours behind us is Seaquel and then Starlight, both with their fishing gear out, us sailing leisurely with only our spinnaker out. As we are making our approach to Rock Sound, both Seaquel and Starlight are catching fish left and right. George ends up catching two large groupers and a couple of other smaller fish. Brian catches a huge mutton snapper and several yellowtails. And I catch hell from Joyce for not listening to her about putting out our line. But even though I get a lot of ribbing from George about having to eat "spinnaker salad" for dinner, they've caught enough fish for us all. We have a pot luck dinner on Seaquel that evening featuring their large grouper with plans to dine on Starlight's mutton snapper the following evening. So the lesson here is if you can't fish, at least hang out with friends that know how to. On Seaquel that evening, we realize that today is the day of the Chesapeake Bay Sabre Association's annual spring lunch at the West River Sailing Club. We decide to make Starlight honorary members so we can have a quorum for a CBSA Bahamas event.

The harbor at Rock Sound, Eleuthera is about 1-1/3 miles wide and four miles long, offering all around protection so long as you are willing to move from side to side as the wind changes. As the wind has strangely remained westerly for the third straight day, and as the town is on the east side of the harbor, we are well away from the town at our anchorage on this Sunday, preferring to keep in the lee of the adjacent land. But as soon as the wind turns back to the east which is expected tomorrow, we will cross the harbor and take some time to explore Rock Sound.

We sometimes pause to think about what we would be doing if we were still back home. With March beginning, we would just start to get excited about the upcoming sailing season. If we had hauled the boat, we would be waiting for several warm weekends to scrape and paint the bottom, and then wax the sides. I'd be making excuses to visit Annapolis with a not so subtle agenda of calling on Fawcett's chandlery. Joyce would be starting to think about her garden, preparing the early planting with great expectations only to see it all go to the bugs, weeds and heat as the garden gets short changed at the height of the sailing season. The weather would be prone to teases of spring, gathering our hopes only to see them dashed with a late season snow. We'd be looking at our vacation schedules even though Joyce knows perfectly well that work conflicts (mostly mine) will eventually force a change...

But instead everyday and no day is a "vacation." Our life on a small boat, while no less worrisome is greatly simplified. The weather is the predominant factor in our lives now for determining if not normally where we will go, when we can go and what we can do once we get there. Although it has taken the better part of a year to achieve, I believe we have reached a point where we are quite content to wait another day in order to have a more comfortable trip and to be more comfortable with where we are going.

And speaking of weather, we've seen some exceptionally pretty sunsets this week. The ones pictured here being of the truly inspiring type, albeit they followed a squall that spawned a large well defined long lasting waterspout just a few miles to the west of us!

Note: We've included another map of places we've mentioned and plan to visit in Eleuthera. Again, it's crudely drawn, but hopefully will help give some perspective. Check out the Map & Charts link.