Abacos: a landscape etched on the fabric of time

Abacos

 Mother Nature, the masterful artist of our world, employs her earthly medium to create the wonders of the Bahamian cays, a landscape etched on the fabric of time.  The breath of Mother Nature, the wind, wields its modeling tools of ocean and sea with precise repetitive tics and, by turn, creates, shapes, changes, re-creates, as if seeking the perfect element for its creatures.

  

This is a place where harvested conch shells waste at the water’s edges, where lobsters live in underwater condos as man occupies those edging it.  The colors of the Abacos are shades of greens & blues, often reflected off the bottom of soft clouds floating in from the Atlantic.  A place where fish replaces beef and fermented cane-squeeze lords over whiskey and the crawfish are huge.  Here reef sharks out-number the gentle stray dogs or “potcakes” as they are known and blue holes replace swimming pools.  Where the red sand in stone comes from another time and the Sahara. Where African beans fetch up on island beaches.  The dead coral of the cays supports life for the ragged, scruffy landscape as the living reefs give contrast to the vast plains of underwater desert of the Abaco banks. 

Just now a sweetness about the place struggles with itself.  There is a vacant quality that rings empty like a furnished house with no people. The islands, long ago stripped of their indigenous wealth of flora and fauna now replaced by the poverty of low lying coral skeleton scattered with sand and plant detritus too thin to plow, renders farming a foreign concept here and industry non-existent.

The locals, no longer aboriginals, but descendants of slaves and the remnants of crown Loyalists from the original American colonies, supplement the current tourist economy as hunter-gatherers from that which provides for all—the ocean waters.  As in many poverty venues the people make do and develop their own system of trade and barter, and, as in many modest tropical settings, they do so slower than more plenteous cultures.  The Bahamians recognize their exotic home is their primary product through tourism and understand they must share its virtues. They do so without complaint; yet I believe their mellow demeanor is more than understanding.  Why is it that poor countries often seem to engender gentleness in their people?  Is it the tropical clime, the need to work collectively or the commonality of life’s struggles?  The Bahamian people are nothing if not genuinely nice people.

The government of the Bahamas is typically third world with nepotism and cronyism being an adjunct of the weak political system, which wields power whimsically, often with tepid results.  Yet they continue to try and that is good. 

It is hard not to like the Abacos especially when cruising the family islands and smaller settlements away from Marsh Harbour. The real Abacos is placid and laid-back with a familiar softness that is comfortable.  It is a serious cruiser’s paradise with each cay releasing its own beguiling virtues leisurely and its waters captivating although cool just now.  My favorite are the placid anchorages off a quiet beach, backed by a tiki bar shrouded in the shade of curved swaying palm trees overlaid with the soft grating of rake and scrape music wafting from a distant venue.  There is nothing for it.  The Abacos is seductive, its charm delicious and a recipe for a walkabout on the Skinwalker as the winds abate and the water warms.

Winter in Bahamas

Skinwalker Log, February 2, 2010, Tuesday, 0630 hrs

Boat Harbour, Marsh Harbour, Abaco, Bahama

Some may say, after this log, that I don’t like winter in the Bahamas.  Not true.  

Tom Conrad, a fellow scribbler, brings it close to the truth, with understatement, as he admits his expectations were not the same as the reality.  Tom sees the good in everything.  The next time we meet I will remind him that angst is the seed of literature.

I believe a bit of enlargement pushes a yarn along.  But in this log to prevent damage to others’ expectations, hyperbole perhaps should be hobbled.  This log should be a factual narrative like weather reports or world news.  Well, maybe not the news. News is historical after all and only the survivors write history.  Come to think of it, news readers are pretty good at taking a circle of facts and with a practiced twist make a pretzel, still the truth, but different.  So it is with the Bahamas. 

This archipelago of islands tricks you with its stunning variations of water color and gorgeous sand beaches fringed with sets of coconut palms and scrubby mangroves. The many hues, shapes and sizes of reef fish are exciting and the local cuisine differs enough to elicit interest, but same enough to enjoy.  So what is the problem and how can I justify whining that perfection is not perfect?

I hasten to remind all that I am an Arizona boy, and a Florida resident and, quite frankly, I don’t do cold.  Never have and never hope to embrace the weather systems that bring the cold.  Besides, if I enjoyed cold I would be with my ex-wife.  Now there is cold.  She was so cold I wore insulated pajamas to bed to prevent freezer burn. Yes, I know cold.  Cold is when you can’t pee in the woods without fear of losing body parts.  Cold is when you can’t make love in a field with, oh, never mind.

The wind blows in the Bahamas, sometimes less than others.  But almost always it blows and blows.  There have been five days in two months that the wind did not blow.  We are not sailboat people.  We like them well enough, but we do trawlers--don’t need and don’t want the wind.  Wind makes waves.  Sometimes wind moves boats not so well anchored in the shallow sands of the Abacos.  That is no fun.

The water is cold.  Even with a wet suit the water is cold after the first few cold fronts.  It takes effort to enjoy snorkeling when the water is cold.  You have to want it to spend an hour in the water.  On occasion, the water will warm enough to enjoy a day, but be mindful and ready to go.

We are staying in one of the largest marinas in the Bahamas.  The resort is simply beautiful, with heated pool, tennis courts, beach, fine dining, all nestled in lush landscape in a keen locale.  It could be a resort in any southern beach town in the US, which is part of the problem; we are in the Bahamas.  While a wonderful place, there are so many North Americans here that it doesn’t feel Bahamian.  Marsh Harbour loses some of its charm by being a primary supply hub for the family islands in the Abacos and so follows Boat Harbour Marina, too big and too busy to properly exhibit that delightful syrupy slowness, that laid back attitude which prevails in armchair musing of the Bahamas.

I am not a group person--big surprise there.  Boat Harbour is for people who enjoy group activities of every ilk.  Yes, you can enjoy other couples in more intimate settings, but there is always significant pressure to be a member of the larger group events.  It is easy to relegate ones self to outcast status.  There is a balance each person must find and hold close on the social titter-totter.  

Aw, but the real Bahamas is only a scratch away.  The water may still be cool, the breeze a bit brisk and anchoring indeed can pose its challenges, but the Bahamas are what they are and once understood you file your expectations and enjoy what is offered.  Part of that offering is the tiki bars—another big surprise, yes?

I enjoy Saturday, steak night at the Jib Room in Marsh Harbour and listening to subtle Bahamian melodies such as “Who Put the Pepper in the Vasoline” best performed by a Rake n’ Scrape duo.  That a person occasionally falls off a dock or down on the dance floor isn’t a problem.  The challenge is not to step on them while dancing or allowing them to sleep in the water.

I love the Sunday afternoon pig roast at Nippers on Guana Cay.  The food is Bahamian, the Frozen Nipper strong, the bikinis enticing and the crowd noisy. 

Grabbers nestled in the palms down the hill is set on a Polynesian-like lagoon that is postcard picture perfect and a nice respite from the rancor at Nippers.

Elbow Cay offers Captain Jacks that hangs over the Hope Town harbour.  The small, protected mooring field is studded with cruising boats loosely packed as sardines. The red striped lighthouse on the hill maintains a one-eyed vigil over it all.  Sea Spray Marina is down island from Hope Town.

Down south is Pete’s Pub in Little Harbour.  It can be treacherous in some regards to get there.  But you pick a good day and go.  Pete’s I hold dear.  An overhead deck is the roof for this wall-less bar, the floor nothing more than a sand beach that trickles down to the water’s edge.  Oddly it reminds me of a lonely Mexican Cantina in the middle of a Milagro bean field.  It is comfortable, local and quiet.  Don’t beach your dinghy at high tide.  You know what I mean?  They serve Blasters here.  Make sure your dinghy knows how to get back to the mother ship before getting Blasted.

Oh, there is so much more than the tiki bars to explore yet they seem to be a part of each day whether you are snorkeling an inner reef, making your way through the shallow tidal flows of Old Robinson Bight, diving for conch off Johnny’s Key, searching the grass edges for lobster condos, or fishing a pass.

It is expensive to enjoy the offerings of the tiki huts.  Bar food sandwiches range mostly from twelve to eighteen dollars and drinks seven to ten dollars each—rather like New York City.  But there is nothing to do for it, so after a while you simply spend the money.  Wiling the afternoon away can easily lighten our load by a hundred dollar bill, so we pace such events as we can. 

The wind will moderate for the next couple of days allowing us to explore either by dinghy or mother ship or both.  We look forward to a bit of adventure away from the marina. 

I do like the Bahamas with its isolated places along the road less traveled and it exceeds my expectations in that regard.  When the wind holds us captive we cannot explore nearly as often as desired.  The cool curtails daily underwater curiosity.  Yet, the ripe roundness of the conch horn sounding each day home leaves a mellow contentment to settle over us, a feeling that is uniquely Bahamian.

Tomorrow we taste more of the Bahamas.  I think Man-o-War Cay.

Bones

 

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