Salvio Sails!

The more-bitter-than-sweet wake up of our last morning onboard has arrived. Fighting for my last cockpit sunrise moment, I sit tangled amidst removed running rigging (say that ten times fast), the packed-up jib, and the bits and bobs of a boat on its way out of the water. To add to the visual, I’ve wrapped any bare parts in salty damp towels I’ve found up here, because for the first time on our trip, the noseeums have decided that today is their day to attack. I suppose that’s an argument for staying in bed until the sun is up, but tell that to my internal clock, or at least tell it to bring the bug spray. 

As always, we’re finishing here on Green Turtle Cay, and after a couple of nights spent anchored off of the settlement, we came into the dock of the boatyard yesterday for ease of packing up and packing off. Andy stays for a few more days to really put things away, so we didn’t have to spend too much of our last moments prepping for storage. 

My mother’s arrival for their annual trip here has actually overlapped by a day, so after beach picnicking one day and visiting friends for lunch for another, we were happy to be able to dinghy in and meet their ferry as it came over yesterday, and then spend our last night with them. A great cast off for their vacation and our departure!

Nine years we’ve been doing this, which is crazy to think. Every time we come back, I remark that it feels like we’ve been aboard more recently than we have, which just emphasizes to me how natural and ‘home-state’ this wee little vessel feels. Motions of movement and tasks are second nature, and even as I’m thinking ‘wait, where did I stow that ‘x’ again?’ I find myself moving toward it and opening hatches or compartments to access it. 

The girls’ artwork from years ago that decorates the salon has started to peel on the edges, and some of it I’ve taken down to take home for safe[st] keeping. We donated our CandyLand and Chutes and Ladders this year, and gave away a lot of arts and crafts supplies as well; Chickadee is evolving with the family, growing up, I suppose, and simplifying its stores. I retain the hope that it doesn’t mean less colorful, less warm, but so far there is little chance. (For starters, the trails of clothing they leave on every surface are quite literally very colorful.) 

The evolution of our time onboard and its shortening lengths has us getting creative about different trips down here. Lily talks about sailing alone with friends one day, perhaps for a college break, which is fun to think about, even if all I can visualize is the fridge full of beer. Now that the girls are older and Lily is driving, it’s easier to imagine Andy and I coming down for a time without them (although shhh, don’t mention it to them). Barring any major storms, etc., it’s nice to know that short stints are still very much worth it, and that the work needed on either end of the trip is doable, and not overwhelming in its scope. It’s just part of the time, which we cherish. 

The fact that there is even a ‘sweet’ ending to our departure is borne from the length as well. Since we didn’t fully unplug and shift our lives from land to sea this year, there is definitely a feeling of being in two worlds, with one (ahem, land) detracting from the other in ways that more easily signify the time to go. Though the cruiser in me just wants to be floating at all times, the task-master in me is ready to get home and not let the things that I’ve put aside pile up even more. Always with the lesson it seems, all things in balance.  

And speaking of balance, or perhaps it’s very opposite, (madness?), the bugs are literally pinging off of my glasses making it hard for me to see the screen, so my current goal is to focus on not running around the yard flailing and swiping like a maniac. Time to go below and get packing. Until next time!

Our trip this year is so much shorter than usual, we’re working hard to check all of our family boxes while onboard: beaching, snorkeling, visiting with friends ashore and floating, nipping into our favorite shops, beloved walks and dinghy exploits, favorite meals (that we only seem to make and eat on Chickadee, almost as in reverence to).. it’s a lot to cram into just two weeks. A lot but not impossible, so we’re moving fast, seeing the things, and not so much tending to the boat tasks that normally fill the interstices of our days. Like cleaning. Or organizing recently-used gear. Or fretting about laundry, or trash. Throw in a couple of teenagers who change their clothes (usually just discarding old onto the sole to be tripped over by the next passerby) every seventeen minutes on average, and we’ve got ourselves a real scene.

It’s actually amazing how quickly I allowed my anal-retentive tendencies to fall by the wayside. Instead of sweeping sand from the companionway and salon a few times a day to tamp down the beach encroachment, I just spend a few extra seconds brushing it from my feet before I get into bed (always a habit, of course, but more time and attention is clearly needed now). The cockpit is strewn with our snorkel gear from days ago, little bags of trash that haven’t seem to have found their place in the locker, and sand, sand sand.. I’d be living my nightmare if I wasn’t living in my dreamiest setting. I should think I’d want to be able to bring this attitude home with me for maximum chill vibes, but… dirty secret revealed, I actually enjoy cleaning and having clean spaces, when I have the time.

We’re in Hope Town once again, and have swam and dined at our favorite pool bar, walked the beach (and subsequently watched a shark threaten to ruin a body-boarder’s day), shared dinners with dear friends and even spent a day racing (an unexpectedly fun activity for buoy-to-buoy-adverse me). It’s been only two days, and we’ve packed them to the brim.

• – – Turtle Interruption….. I don’t know what it is about the turtles this year, but they’re starting to feel like labradors. As I’ve been writing, a decent-sized green turtle has been coming up all around the cockpit; I keep hearing the ‘pfff’ of its breath as a funny little ‘hello’. And then I swear it’s looking me in the eye- is it expecting breakfast? Doesn’t it know that this is MY cockpit time?! Sheesh.

We’ll need to round the Whale today (staying in the Abacos is definitely a time to recognize this ‘hurdle’ of movement as a constant in our journeys), but we have time to do so, so we’ll leave here and head to Guana to play on the beach and wander around until later in the afternoon. I’d like to think that I’ll also spend some time tidying and perhaps polishing our very rusty stainless (“It’s stain-less, not stain-never!” as Andy says, groan..), but it’s more likely that I’ll… not. We’ve got paths to explore and games to play!

The band is back together! Oh my heart.. thank goodness. Since anthropomorphizing is a speciality of mine, I’ll just say that I think Chickadee is as pleased as we all are. 

Stepping from the ferry onto the yard dock and having Chickadee already in the water was such a treat this year. Andy had come down in December to rig the boat, replace our leaking fuel tank, and prep and work on a few other projects in advance of our return, so it certainly made us feel like fancy boat people who greet their crew, walk aboard and unpack their bags. It wasn’t quiiiiite like that, but a major step in a different direction, and the arrival chaos was tamped down to only mid-level messes and gear upheavals before everything was stowed and ready to go. 

Another marker of the start of a new season was to be onboard and hear “Yay, Chickadee!” from fellow yard customers walking by. Since we’ve been at AYS (Abaco Yacht Service), it’s largely been the same group of sailors here, who sail from roughly November to May (our future agenda, most certainly). We’re usually the final boat in, and the only one with kids, so our last place finish in the reunion each year feels like it has a lot of anticipation and excitement, which is more than heartwarming. A welcome back reminder of our wonderful community here on the island. We had lovely catch-ups with each group, and learned the routes and plans for their winters, promising another visit on the back end of our all-too-short cruise this year. 

A Chickadee record this year- we were stowed, fueled and shoved off of the dock a mere 23 hours after we arrived, in order to maximize our time adventuring while also taking advantage of wind forecasts in the coming days. It’s been a really windy winter here in the Bahamas, according to aforementioned sailors, with winds clocking all of the way around every few days. While that could certainly hamper our adventuring progress, we saw a window to get us around the Whale that next day, so we jumped on it. 

We anchored off of No Name Cay for the first time in Chickadee record, and went ashore for a drink at Big O’s, which is a one stop shop (bar, restaurant, pool, gift shop and most importantly perhaps, pigs on the beach) for weekenders wanting to plop for the day, or better yet for Big O’s, tour groups dropped for lunch and plenty of rum before their next snorkel.

We had a pre-dawn start to head around the Whale (this time behind it through Don’t Rock Passage, which proved to be a little harrowing in its narrow track, shallow points and decent-sized swells making the draft a lot more variable), and worked our way into Man o’ War Cay to make our annual visit with friends there. Two nights on their dock included walks and boat rides into town for ice cream, beach days, full moon rise walks and Lily turning into coconut-opener extraordinaire (who needs tools?!). We left the island with far fewer coconuts, sweet memories with friends, lighter on dental floss (fresh coconut is a bear on the chompers!) and about forty games of Mexican Train under our belts. 

We had a great motor sail south to Little Harbor, an anchorage we hadn’t been in since 2017. (It’s tidal-dependent to get in, and they have only a handful of available first-come first-serve moorings, so it’s felt like enough of a challenge that we’ve bypassed for other easier options when we’re down there.) We’re so glad we made the effort this time! A delicious Sunday brunch at Pete’s Pub on the beach in the harbor, and then a fun adventure on the beach on the ocean side afterward. As much seaglass as we remembered from our first visit and a beautiful beach (once we trekked over the razory limestone, in flipflops, to access it) for lounging and playing in the surf. Andy and Lily walked further on (my current book is too good for such time-consuming exertions), found a piece of a SpaceX something or other in the sand, and also met some people who gave them the literal inside track for getting back to Pete’s. A path with a touch more poisonwood and termite mounds, but a lot less skin-tearing limestone. It’s all a fine balance here in paradise!

A tough Chickadee decision was made (to stay or to go) yesterday morning as we woke in Little Harbor, and after Lily joined in on her first class of the day (wah wahhhhh, break is over!), we decided to head out and see what we could see. Remarkably despite the recent history, the weather has been fairly settled with agreeable wind directions, so we have had great options for both activities and overnight anchorages. 

On our way south the day before we remarked on a sandy spit on a little uninhabited island that we thought we might like to explore, so we dropped anchor for the day. It was very close to a place we’d snorkeled before, so we used the window between Lily’s classes wisely- in the water. Naturally in my hasty stowage I didn’t pull a fourth mask from our stores (we only had three people on board last year!), so rather than tear apart our entire bunk, I watched from above and enjoyed bobbing in the dinghy while the girls pet the treat-greedy green turtle that knows a good group of snorkelers when it sees them. 

The island itself (one of the Pelican Cays) was lovely, and we felt like we were in the Exumas… long stretches of white sand reaching out into the bank, and most importantly, no one else around.  

In order to get closer to a morning Hope Town approach (for both service purposes for Lily’s classes and to get a jump on other would-be cruisers vying for their limited moorings), we steamed north after our Pelican Cay day, and dropped anchor off of Tilloo Cay, where we now sit. I came into the cockpit for a sunrise viewpoint, as I always do, but this morning I was thwarted by clouds and a few raindrops. The front looks small though, so I’m sure we’ll have some sun as we sail north in a short while. 

Meanwhile, I hear dominos flipping on the table below, which means Lily is awake and ready for another game. Time to go!

While our exit from Chickadee was a swift and efficient process this year, filled with time with dear friends, fun activities and good food, leaving the boat had its usual cloud of melancholy and sadness that plagues our late-March. For a fun levity boost to counteract it, we quickly got excited about seeing things at home. We have had a LOT of projects that have been going on while we were away, and while the management of those from afar kept us in the loop, coming home to actually see everything underway was like coming downstairs on Christmas morning. We skibbled from house to house, room to room, oohing and aahing over upgrades and new shiny things. And then a transitory ‘ewww’ when I sat down in my office to open mail and pay the bills for those shiny things, but everything in balance, yes?

Lily, after a host family switch, has returned to herself again, which is an immense relief. While working for the Spanish Chamber of Commerce is not likely on her career horizon, her life there seems much more comfortable, and her new family and their space and ways was the major contribution to that. A giant ‘WHEW’ on the parental end of things. She has been asking me for a wrap-up post, and here it is, Bird! I’ll end with a photo dump of our last days, plus a shot of one of our first days back. We were greeted with grey, cold wind and snow, and while visiting Andy’s dad, his usual views of the harbor were hidden by the ick of it. We decided to see what Chickadee looked like in Southwest Harbor, and.. she be cold.

Just booked flights to go get Lily in June and have an adventure before we head home. Maybe a bonus SALVio-not-sailing post to come.

• 

Much like making up stories about people while in crowded places with interesting goings on, we like to wonder about our fellow boaters a lot. The working title of my book would be “What’s Going On Down There? and Other Questions About Anchorage Neighbors”. When a new boat comes into any place we’re already sitting, Andy first wracks his brain for his comprehensive rolodex of boats he knows. (It’s incredible, really. He often can’t remember what his last meal was, but he’s never forgotten a boat build, its designer, and usually its name and where we saw it last, if at all. My data is in and out like the tides; his is there to stay.) Once he’s identified it (whether out loud or not), we start making assessments, which then lead to either known facts, or amusing-to-us stories.

If there is netting on the lifelines, it’s usually a couple and not a single-hander, and that means they either have kids or pets. (Further sussing would dictate a kid boat if there are water toys of any kind, or clothing drying on the lines. For some reason, couples don’t expand their laundry drying out into the world like we families do.)

It’s mostly retirees we see, yet the younger ‘we’ve sold it all and bought a boat’ couple/family scene has made its increase in the last few years too. This leads to ALL sorts of stories, as you can imagine.

We speculate and create stories about jobs, personalities, habits and hobbies, and sometimes it can get weird. Trimarans, for instance, are only owned by murderers. They’re creepy and make me feel icky and like I never want to get closer than 100 yards and thus, obvious link. Andy isn’t exactly on board with that one, but the girls get it, anyway.

I’m also always wondering how and what people are eating, as it’s one of my favorite things to plan, cook and do, and knowing the confined parameters of my own galley and my interest to expand options as much as possible, I love hearing about others’ onboard meals. (This requires actual discussion, mind you, which then puts this info into the ‘facts’ pile, a slightly less-exciting, but still important category.) We’ve gotten favorite recipes from beach parties with shared nibbles, so it’s the only real detective work I enjoy doing. Otherwise we can just assume that that Tartan 37 we saw last night (single-hander, no pets) was making ceviche with a conch he dove for recently. That would explain the banging, and also since we’re saying he’s an artist (boat wasn’t too tidy and put together, couldn’t have been an engineer), he’ll use the shell to carve trinkets that he can sell later.

The one set of boats we never have to wonder about are charter boats. Dorian took care of most of the charter companies’ fleets, so for a few years there anchorages were free from the bulked up catamarans, but this year they seem to be back in force. Charters seem to fall into one of very few categories: The Family Affair, which is sometimes multigenerational so that the grandparents can also enjoy the stress of learning a new boat in six days, The Couples’ Retreat, where two to four couples share their vacation experience, or The Bro Week, where college buddies adventure on the briny sea. We’ve seen them all, and we try to steer clear, because it’s never quite apparent if they had the skill to have a boat signed over, or just the checkbook. At least the boats are newer these days though- four or five years ago we saw a Bro Week lose their propeller as they tried to leave their mooring in Warderick Wells. As in, one of the propellers left the shaft and fell to the bottom. So in addition to worrying about nautical awareness, we also always wonder how the boats are maintained. Either way, ‘steering clear’ is the course of action.

Violet has spent so much of her time below on passages, and even for hours after we drop anchor, we assume that if anyone is assessing US in any way, they just see a middle-aged couple, doing their thing. When she DOES pop up to jump in the dinghy, we hope that people are guessing that that’s when we let her out of her cage to go ashore, or something exciting like that. My guess though is that they’d just be correctly thinking that she’s a pre-teen with a ‘tude, and her sour face in the dinghy is less the acclimation to the bright sun and more her displeasure at being asked to see the world in real time.

As the anchorage wakes up, a number of boats have hoisted anchor and set off. Where are they going, I wonder, and to do what?

A few days ago we enjoyed the company of friends from the island (Mount Desert Island, that is), in Hope Town for a short respite of theirs before they were off to pick up their family and a charter boat for a week. We had a lovely time together that included lunch at a great spot on the beach, ingeniously called “On Da Beach”. There was a bit of sea on with the recent easterlies, and our post-lunch swim meant a bit of body surfing, a few gulps of sea water, a lot of laughter, and holy smokes, SO much sand involved in the wave thrashing. Three days later I’m still wiping sand from my neck each time I move my head, as my ‘supply’ slowly loosens its way out of my scalp. The girls always reveled in how long they would find Bahamian sand in their hair after we returned home every year, but as the primary sweeper of Chickadee sole and cockpit, I AM NOT REVELING. I’ve showered, I’ve brushed. I shake my head while scratching every night like a dog, getting as much out to lessen the load I’m bringing to my pillow and our sheets. As I read I scratch my head, and my clothes become sand-filled. (Is there a fountain with an external source in my scalp that I’m unaware of?! Will it ever end?! I’m beginning to think not.) So, basically, I’m here to introduce the new me: Sand Fountain Susan. Don’t get too close if you’ve just applied lotion, it’ll hang on and cause you problems.

In non-sand news, we left Harbour Island and had a fish-less sail north, after which we put our reels away for the season. (We have bad luck only catching barracuda on the banks, so tend to relish only deep water options.) We managed to throw three messages in bottles, ate a lot, and then missed both our last ocean sunset and the moonrise due to the cloud cover and subsequent rain storm that ‘led us’ into the cut and to a protected anchorage. Exhausting end to a long day, but forever grateful for a free wash down!

We made our way to Hope Town where we had lots of Maine-folk visits, a couple of cockpit dinner gatherings, a day of biking, a hike to the top of the newly-painted Hope Town Light, tried rolled ice cream for the first time (delish), had some fresh seafood delivered boat-side, and even managed a barefoot pickleball set (very exfoliating). Hope Town always delivers, for sure.

We now venture north, still slowly, as our timing is still flush for more anchorages, hopeful snorkels and relaxing time on sweet Chickadee. Heading to Guana for a night, to check out the beach (keeping sand away from my melon all the while), and then to utilize Grabbers’ freshwater pool to attempt to surreptitiously free another few cupfuls from my scalp. What a ‘fun’ goal to guide us through the Abacos!

It’s been a beat since we’ve had ALL the things- strong WiFi, access to food stores, showers, water for finally rinsing off the boat, laundry AND all-day views of popped collars and driving loafers, but here we now sit in Harbour Island, and here it all is!

Time for another photo blast, to include our final days and islands of the Exumas. Once again we changed up our game and hit new anchorages, explored new areas (still thanking the settled weather to allow for it all), and felt like we greatly expanded our Exuman opportunities. While always beautiful and amazing, we were beginning to feel a formulaic quality to the repetition and tradition of our anchorages and ‘favorites’. Very cheap thrills made for SALVio in finding new nooks and crannies to explore.

We made our trip north to Eleuthera (the area where Harbour Island sits) via a new jumping-off point called the Sail Rocks, and it was beautiful and eerie and exciting to be anchored in the slight protection of a series of tiny rocky outcroppings perched so far away from any civilization, including any other boats. Again, couldn’t have done it in years past due to weather.

Life aboard has settled into its usual rhythm for us all minus one. While Violet’s noise-cancelling ear buds coupled with her intense series-watching habits mean she misses the wildlife that we call her up to see most times, and she can only do her schooling in the fits and starts of our terrible wifi, she’s otherwise seems to have found a happy medium of really missing her sister and friends while also remembering what she loves about being on the boat, even despite Lily’s absence and nudging. Dealing with that process while also fretting about Lily in Spain was rough, but now however many weeks in, the edges are smoothed, and it all feels much calmer in my motherly brain.

Today we head north still, making the bigger passage to the Abacos. It’s still quite settled, so we’re expecting to have to motorsail, but hoping to land some fish while also taking care of a very important task: tossing our message in a bottle overboard. (WITH important details included for future beachcombers.)

Another stint in the ‘space between the towers’, as it sometimes feels defined by us. The Land & Sea Park is a lot of things, but connected is not one of them, so we take the wonderful parts of the time there and fringe them with mild panic about not being able to respond to the random ‘important’ text or email that somehow slipped in while we were sleeping. Learning to understand what’s actually important is a necessary coping mechanism, but after eight years, we’re still not that great at it. We sit again off of Shroud Cay with what should be decent service, but only in the hours when the many other boaters anchored nearby are asleep. Thankfully I’m a sunrise-loving user.

The weather patterns this year have been so different from any other we’ve experienced. None of the frontal passages that clobber the Abacos on a regular basis have stretched their way down, and we have had amazingly settled conditions for weeks. Glassy water everywhere (not great for sailing, to be sure), and most excitingly the ability to get into anchorages we’d only previously coveted. For our first night in the park, we went to an old standby that we love, and hit up Cambridge Cay after a three year hiatus. To satisfy V’s snorkeling fix, we found a cove on the chart that we’d never been able to get to (due to wind direction and heft), and it was a complete win. Tons of elkhorn coral, all the brains (grooved, smooth and knobby, and also I’ve always wanted to be able to say that), frizzy staghorn coral, and all within a nice swim to yet another award-winning beach. And once again, we were the only visitors. As always, a lovely theme for us here.

After Cambridge we stopped for a quick snorkel at the Sea Aquarium before heading into an anchorage off of Warderick Wells that we’d only ever hiked and dinghied to previously. The Pirate’s Lair was more than magical. Completely protected from every direction (not that we needed it with only a whisper of wind), our 360 degree view included four beaches, the hiking trails of Warderick, the bluffs of Hog Cay, a sea tunnel between the lair and the ocean on Hog that made for an amazing crashing pop at certain tides, all over a white sand bottom, speckled with a few stromatolites in one corner for good exploratory measure. We stayed for two nights, and if the responsibilities of work, school, life in general didn’t weigh on us to get us moving, we’d probably be there still.

To add to its charm, popping out one of the narrow openings to the east, we could dinghy in and around a smattering of little deserted islands, one of which we fell in love with, and parked ourselves on two days in a row. Since we feel like we could be in the business of rating beaches for various activities at this point, this was a clear 10/10 for its perfect sand (not too big, not too confectioner’s sugar small (too hard to clear from a bathing suit once back on board!), the right drop, the view, and the intrigue of where the treasure must be buried. (Our time in the Pirate’s Lair had us harkening back to the 18th century, and anytime we’d see a mast sail by or a cruiser from another anchorage dinghy in to check things out, we’d joke that we needed to man the cannons. But really we just kept thinking about where the booty was.)

We met up with friends yesterday back here at Shroud and did the usual run through the mangroves, only to find an astonishing fifty people already there on the ocean beach. After such solitude it feel like a carnival, but we jumped into the great circular current of the deep cut of the mangrove as it meets the sea, and floated in the eddy for an hour with great people-watching as our secondary entertainment. We also learned a new lawn/beach game called spike ball, which we played with some yacht crew waiting for their guests to show up to their spread of beach chairs, umbrellas, coolers of food and drink and the array of water sport options they had laid out. (As an aside, the boat was called Emina, which apart from being a very unfortunate name to have to focus on saying every time, also led to me explaining to Violet what an enima was, so she’d understand our childish chuckles about it. Who’s saying she’s not learning things outside of school?!)

We now plan our next ‘jumps’ to the north, which is so pleasant to do with this weather and its many presented options. No ‘racing to the barn’ between fronts this year, so we can check as many things off of our wish list as we want. My list: to read, to write, to eat, to float, to not be shoveling snow. I’m doing pretty well so far, and I think any route we take can check those boxes!

We’re very slowing making our way back up the chain of Exuma islands. After finally leaving our favored Big Farmer’s Cay, we stopped at another new anchorage along Great Guana called Jack’s Cove, inset a bit and a mile or so to the north of Jack’s Bay. It had a beautiful beach on the bank side, and a short walk to a crazy vortex beach of… garbage. The winds, the landforms and the ocean doing its thing just so happened to bring seemingly all of the Exuma’s offshore trash into this one little cove. We’d never seen anything like it. And jackpot of all jackpots, Andy found a message in a bottle. We’ve thrown a few overboard on various passages in our lives, but he’d always wanted to find one himself. We didn’t have high hopes in this being tossed from too far away, really, but what meager hopes we did have were dashed when, after reading the adorable 16 year old’s “wishes and dreams for her life” list, we found that she failed to include where she dropped it, when she dropped it, and any viable contact information (she included her phone number without an area code.. get dialing, Andy!). 

Anyhoo, after our dump scavenge we took advantage of the flat calm and crystal clear waters to have a dinghy exploration up the coast to look for fun water-dwellers. After an hour of trolling along the razory limestone overhangs, we had seen only one lion fish and one tiny sea turtle. Sad and disturbing all the same. We went back to the boat and Ray’s cousin (also Ray) for company. At least he’s always there. Sometimes he brings other family members as well. They eat a lot.

For years while cruising we would find a laundromat onshore somewhere, and one of us would park ourselves for the task. Often I would happily sit and read while the machines did their thing and Andy would go searching for a part of some kind to double-duty our time ashore. If we were lucky, the place also had a pool, or some exciting-enough attraction to keep the kids entertained while I laundered. The past few years have introduced my one true boat extravagance: the laundry drop-off. The first time we happened upon the option, it only cost about $4 more per load, and as far as I was concerned, it was well worth the extra. Now it’s a bit more, but not having to hassle with broken machines, wait in line, wait at all, etc. etc…. worth every penny.

Naturally then we spent a day a Black Point Settlement doing laundry, because we forgot how annoying it is to do it yourself. Reminder made! Day wasted!

We also spent a day with Maine friends who were zipping down to Georgetown, and we found ourselves together in Staniel on our crossing paths. We introduced them to our favorite beach there, and after we parted ways we returned, so that Violet could re-open the Chickadee café in its original location. (It was also once the World Café, a few owners/years ago, when all of the Rickadee kids worked together at their ventures. 😉 ) 

Saw the disgusting beach pigs once again, and came home to shower, since, if I haven’t conveyed my feelings well enough, pigs on a beach are GROSS. But I’m also good for a baby animal of any kind, so I picked my way through the ick and found the two week olds, still adorable and soft. 

Violet also taught a fellow cruiser how to pet the nurse sharks below the fish-cleaning station, so all in all, Staniel’s bustling Allen productivity really made up for cursed laundry day.

Just off of Pipe Cay now, and had a fun time yesterday circumnavigating the island yesterday in the dinghy, zipping in and out of Pipe Creek’s waterways. There was a huge megayacht anchored behind us, with what looked like a handful of pre-teen/teens, and plenty of activities. A giant slide off the boat, jet skis, a tender flying back and forth with tubers, and Snuba gear to start.. . By the time the kids blew past me in the cockpit for the tenth time on the super loud and very obnoxious jet skis, I was about to go all “Get off my lawn!” on them, but they were called back to the boat by the no-doubt very bedraggled and exhausted crew. Since they had also set up an on-shore lounging area (all of these mega yachts seem to stake a claim on a nearby beach, so that guests can lounge under tents, with bar set-ups and shoreside activities at their fingertips), we saw the crew go in to fetch everything long after the sun had set. Long days for them for sure. 

Heading further north today, but once again, not so sure exactly where. I’m really starting to like the whole ‘sail until you stop’ method of finding new anchorages. 

I was looking at a cruising guide the other day and discovered that nearby Cave Cay was once called Little Toucher’s Hole, and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me chuckle out loud every hour or so since reading it. Did that person walk into the town office and declare that name with a straight face? (Also, IS there a town office?) And also also.. but why?! You can bet your bottom dollar that the first item on the new owner’s list the day it closed was to hit up that office once again. Inspect the structures? Check the cistern for leaks? That stuff can wait. We gotta rename this place, so Little Toucher’s Hole never again appears on a chart, a guide or a map.

I should note that while I am comfortable raining down judgement on others’ names, I’m not too great at it myself. It’s entirely likely that I would have named the island Isle McIslandface or something worse. But at the very least, someone else would have stopped me before Little Toucher’s Hole got to the top of the list, right?!

We haven’t moved very far (read: at all) since the last post, as it’s just too perfect here. At one point I jokingly said it was now deemed Susan’s Bay, since I love it so much, and that’s taken off with Violet. Violet’s Bay would be something similar, but with more snorkeling options right from the boat, and also with better WiFi.

Yesterday because we were so incapable of decision-making, we took a closed poll to see whether we should stay or go, the first of what could have been a few polls (if we ‘go’, where would we go?). The results were not surprising, as seen below.

After feeling a bit sad about not seeing any kid boats, and also realizing that Violet could care less if we did or not, we’re recognizing the freedom in making our own decisions (as well as our indecisions). It’s a nice change to only poll ourselves, and not have to factor others into any equation. Of course in all of these spots I keep thinking “Ruach would love it here!”, etc. etc. so as in everything, there’s an up and a down.

We seem to be on a stingray superhighway, and they drift by all day long, most of them quite large, and none seem to care about us swimming above them. We also have a resident barracuda (Barry), who is quite big and practices his very still lurking every time we get in the water. We were so docile yesterday (second Sunday, as we kept calling it), he was likely confused, and made an arc back and forth around the swim ladder for hours, waiting for activity to oversee.

We’ve also become rather acquainted with the remora (Ray- see what I mean about my naming?) who thinks our boat is a large shark, apparently. He was stuck to the keel the first time I jumped in after we anchored, and three days later, he’s still living the bottom paint dream. We fed him scraps from the steak I was preparing yesterday, and once those were gone, we gave him some bread to give him a taste of America’s real favorite treat, hydrogenated corn syrup. He loved it, but I can hear his doctor now: “Pre-diabetes, sir.” (Anthropomorphizing local fauna has taken over my lazy days, it seems.)

Between reading, crafting (I’ve been channeling my inner twelve year old self to make some killer bracelets), writing, swimming, paddling, cooking and eating, that’s all we seem to be good for, which feels great. Well and also, sleep. As we were admitting that we’re in bed by 8pm every night to a friend, he pointed out that it was natural, as 9pm is dubbed “cruiser’s midnight”, an hour we apparently are incapable of seeing. (The real trick V and I have every night is to get Andy to wait until 8p, as he’s often ready to tuck in in the 7s, an hour which we have deemed improper for bedtime.)

We’re off today, to sail… somewhere. We’ll hopefully know when the mood strikes!

In the mean time, Little Toucher’s Hole. Ha!