Michael and Fish's Visit
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Lydia Fell
Nov 10, 2009, 6:32:02 PM11/10/09
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11/10/09 – back in Marsh Harbour
Michael and Fish, Skip’s youngest son and his wife, arrived on board on 10/19 without event (although, the circuitous route from Atlanta to Marsh Harbour in order to get here was interesting … and very expensive), and we chilled in the harbor that first night while they settled in. The next morning, with a cold front kicking up the wind and waves, but without being “cold”, we took our best point of sail, and headed south to the bottom of the Abaco chain. Before dusk, and running out of light, we dropped anchor at the end of Tilloo Cay. We were in good holding, but very uncomfortable with the swell coming in from the cut at the southern-most end of the cay, although at the same time, not happy at the prospect of moving on in the approaching dark. Within 15 minutes of anchoring, a local resident very kindly came out on his motor boat to visit us, and to warn us that we’d get our “asses kicked” if we spent the night there. So, with great trepidation and in pitch blackness, we carefully up-anchored, and followed the charted rhumb line south, my nose pressed to the chart plotter for what seemed like an interminable amount of time.
An hour or so later, we tucked in behind Lynyard Cay, in much calmer water, thankful that we’d moved, and relieved that the stress of motoring about in the dark, with a 7’ draft was over. Dinner ensued, pathetic as it was that night, and we all crashed into our bunks. Michael and Fish had both spent a good part of the day feeling sea-sick, which (being the champion of sea-sickness that I am) I know is exhausting, in and of itself.
So – the hard part done, we forged on with their vacation time. For the next few days, while the wind was still howling, we explored something new on Lynyard each day. Having never snorkeled anything worth writing home about, Michael and Fish were happy to snorkel the grass off the beaches, finding sand dollars, sea biscuits, sea cucumbers, and an exquisite King Helmet shell, albeit still inhabited. I indulged myself in scouring the beaches, and found to my great delight, another Hamburger Bean which was laying quietly on a pile of seaweed on an ocean-side beach, patiently waiting for me to claim it. It was less than perfect in shape, but it’s color was beautiful, like varnished teak.
One day, we all sailed down to Little Harbour, the end of the line, as it were, of the Abaco chain. We hoped to link up with some friends who own a cottage there, but not only were they not there, we were so ahead of the “season”, that even Pete’s Pub, the celebrated gathering spot for all in Little Harbour, was closed. Little Harbour, which was fodder for my eyes, so quaint, quiet and pristine, is the home of world-famous Pete Johnston, who not only owns the pub (fashioned from the deck house of the old family schooner), but the gallery and foundry, in which he creates gorgeous castings. Perhaps we’ll have to go back before we leave Abaco, just to experience the gallery and foundry, which I was disappointed to have missed. We had a lovely walk out to the lighthouse, and had fun playing with hermit crabs (even considering bringing one home to Portia as a new playmate, but then abandoning that idea in the interest of the hermit crab) on a lovely sunny, breezy day. Gorgeous little spot.
We worked our way north when the wind direction had improved, with the intent to do some snorkeling off Sandy Cay – promising for sea turtles. We did see a sea turtle while we were scoping out the snorkeling area by dinghy, but concluded that the sea was still too rough to explore the reefs safely and comfortably. Instead, we snorkeled off the leeward side of the cay, but aside from seeing some lovely looking “dinner” (snapper, I think), not much else.
As the wind continued to abate and the seas lie down, we worked our way under sail to Fowl Cay reserve again, to introduce Michael and Fish to some real snorkeling. We weren’t disappointed. If you haven’t had a chance to see some of the underwater pictures we took, have a look at them. It’s such a wondrous experience to hang out with all that sea life, watching them watching you. The visiting baracuda was exciting; he checked us out several times, but the little Parrotfish, in great schools as they swam by, were surreal.
Off a bit farther north on Great Guana Cay, we bought a $15 mooring ball for the night, and visited the famous Nippers Beach Bar, with a spectacular view of the Atlantic ocean and one of the prettiest, and longest beaches in the Bahamas, reputedly. The ambiance at Nippers is unique, pirate flavored, and very relaxed, with multi-level decks for dining or just having a drink, depending on how much breeze you’re seeking. There are two small salt-water swimming pools fed by a waterfall, with comfortable jute seats hanging just above the water in the shade, and adjacent to a bar. It’s a place where you wander down onto the beach and swim, or snorkel on the nearby reef, or just walk (as Fish and I did while the boys snorkeled), and then rinse the sand off under a saltwater shower and head back to the bar. Food and drinks are very expensive, mind you, but - although I was the only one in our crowd to think so - my bacon-cheeseburger was absolutely incredible! (I should add a footnote here to say that I don’t remember when I last had a burger of any description at all, so perhaps that had something to do with it, or possibly I was just enjoying the experience).
Having enjoyed everything we found on Great Guana, and running out of vacation time for Michael and Fish, we about-turned, and headed south for some more snorkeling off Fowl Cay, this time grabbing one of the mooring balls in the park for our dinghy. Again, it was an awesome morning of completely loosing yourself in another world of stunning color and sea life. Having taken the underwater pictures, and identified some of the fish we saw, I’m looking forward to going back to another reef to find some of the fish we didn’t see. These reefs are isolated from each other, with a sandy bottom in between. Much of the fish on one reef, therefore, stay there; aside from the bigger fish, like perhaps the barracuda and some of the larger schools, I doubt they migrate to another reef. So one’s experience is likely to be different each time as to which species of fish may be present.
We sailed on to Hope Town, which Skip and I had seen earlier before Michael and Fish came to visit. It’s such a picturesque little town, with charming little houses in pastel colors, each one with it’s own name (as they do in England), and manicured lawns with native blooming shrubs, bordered by picket fences. Predominantly, everyone walks on the island, although we did see a couple of bicycles and a golf cart or two. Again, there was a wonderful beach on the ocean side with some reefs off it within snorkeling distance – perhaps we’ll go back there to explore before we leave the area. As we arrived by dinghy in Hope Town, we tied up next to a fisherman who was unloading his catch for the day, and bought enough Wahoo for two nights. Skip grilled it out on the barbie, (after marinating in Mojo) and it was fresh and scrumptious.
Back in Marsh Harbour the next day, Skip and I went off to a dermatologist, who spent a great deal of time inspecting our sun-ravaged skin with a magnified lens, removed a questionable spot on my back, and otherwise gave us both a clean bill of health in between quizzing us about living life on a boat, in the permanent sense of the word. That done, we spent our last evening on board with Michael and Fish playing Hearts. It had been a really lovely 12 days with them; they were both highly interested in all the sea and shore life, and both are avid (however, short-term) campers, so there were no unpleasant surprises for them in our lifestyle, and we expect and hope to see them again further down the Bahamian chain.
Since they left, Skip and I have hung idly on the anchor in Marsh Harbour. We’ve caught up with all the computer “chores”, (editing and putting up pictures, writing our logs, doing some accounting) and have been walking the town, meeting the cruisers that are starting to arrive, making some good friends along the way, and reading voraciously. Sometime this week, we’ll pull up the anchor and head back to Great Guana, perhaps, to go and see on foot what we didn’t have time to do with Michael and Fish, and, no doubt, meet increasingly more cruisers as the season begins. They are, all of them almost without exception, the best kind of people in our minds, and every one of them has an interesting story to tell.
Be happy, be well, and make each day count, as we are.
Love, Lydia
S/V Flying Pig
Morgan 46 #2
"The only way to live is to have a dream green and growing in your life - anything else is just existing and is a waste of breath."
Ann Davison
Michael and Fish, Skip’s youngest son and his wife, arrived on board on 10/19 without event (although, the circuitous route from Atlanta to Marsh Harbour in order to get here was interesting … and very expensive), and we chilled in the harbor that first night while they settled in. The next morning, with a cold front kicking up the wind and waves, but without being “cold”, we took our best point of sail, and headed south to the bottom of the Abaco chain. Before dusk, and running out of light, we dropped anchor at the end of Tilloo Cay. We were in good holding, but very uncomfortable with the swell coming in from the cut at the southern-most end of the cay, although at the same time, not happy at the prospect of moving on in the approaching dark. Within 15 minutes of anchoring, a local resident very kindly came out on his motor boat to visit us, and to warn us that we’d get our “asses kicked” if we spent the night there. So, with great trepidation and in pitch blackness, we carefully up-anchored, and followed the charted rhumb line south, my nose pressed to the chart plotter for what seemed like an interminable amount of time.
An hour or so later, we tucked in behind Lynyard Cay, in much calmer water, thankful that we’d moved, and relieved that the stress of motoring about in the dark, with a 7’ draft was over. Dinner ensued, pathetic as it was that night, and we all crashed into our bunks. Michael and Fish had both spent a good part of the day feeling sea-sick, which (being the champion of sea-sickness that I am) I know is exhausting, in and of itself.
So – the hard part done, we forged on with their vacation time. For the next few days, while the wind was still howling, we explored something new on Lynyard each day. Having never snorkeled anything worth writing home about, Michael and Fish were happy to snorkel the grass off the beaches, finding sand dollars, sea biscuits, sea cucumbers, and an exquisite King Helmet shell, albeit still inhabited. I indulged myself in scouring the beaches, and found to my great delight, another Hamburger Bean which was laying quietly on a pile of seaweed on an ocean-side beach, patiently waiting for me to claim it. It was less than perfect in shape, but it’s color was beautiful, like varnished teak.
One day, we all sailed down to Little Harbour, the end of the line, as it were, of the Abaco chain. We hoped to link up with some friends who own a cottage there, but not only were they not there, we were so ahead of the “season”, that even Pete’s Pub, the celebrated gathering spot for all in Little Harbour, was closed. Little Harbour, which was fodder for my eyes, so quaint, quiet and pristine, is the home of world-famous Pete Johnston, who not only owns the pub (fashioned from the deck house of the old family schooner), but the gallery and foundry, in which he creates gorgeous castings. Perhaps we’ll have to go back before we leave Abaco, just to experience the gallery and foundry, which I was disappointed to have missed. We had a lovely walk out to the lighthouse, and had fun playing with hermit crabs (even considering bringing one home to Portia as a new playmate, but then abandoning that idea in the interest of the hermit crab) on a lovely sunny, breezy day. Gorgeous little spot.
We worked our way north when the wind direction had improved, with the intent to do some snorkeling off Sandy Cay – promising for sea turtles. We did see a sea turtle while we were scoping out the snorkeling area by dinghy, but concluded that the sea was still too rough to explore the reefs safely and comfortably. Instead, we snorkeled off the leeward side of the cay, but aside from seeing some lovely looking “dinner” (snapper, I think), not much else.
As the wind continued to abate and the seas lie down, we worked our way under sail to Fowl Cay reserve again, to introduce Michael and Fish to some real snorkeling. We weren’t disappointed. If you haven’t had a chance to see some of the underwater pictures we took, have a look at them. It’s such a wondrous experience to hang out with all that sea life, watching them watching you. The visiting baracuda was exciting; he checked us out several times, but the little Parrotfish, in great schools as they swam by, were surreal.
Off a bit farther north on Great Guana Cay, we bought a $15 mooring ball for the night, and visited the famous Nippers Beach Bar, with a spectacular view of the Atlantic ocean and one of the prettiest, and longest beaches in the Bahamas, reputedly. The ambiance at Nippers is unique, pirate flavored, and very relaxed, with multi-level decks for dining or just having a drink, depending on how much breeze you’re seeking. There are two small salt-water swimming pools fed by a waterfall, with comfortable jute seats hanging just above the water in the shade, and adjacent to a bar. It’s a place where you wander down onto the beach and swim, or snorkel on the nearby reef, or just walk (as Fish and I did while the boys snorkeled), and then rinse the sand off under a saltwater shower and head back to the bar. Food and drinks are very expensive, mind you, but - although I was the only one in our crowd to think so - my bacon-cheeseburger was absolutely incredible! (I should add a footnote here to say that I don’t remember when I last had a burger of any description at all, so perhaps that had something to do with it, or possibly I was just enjoying the experience).
Having enjoyed everything we found on Great Guana, and running out of vacation time for Michael and Fish, we about-turned, and headed south for some more snorkeling off Fowl Cay, this time grabbing one of the mooring balls in the park for our dinghy. Again, it was an awesome morning of completely loosing yourself in another world of stunning color and sea life. Having taken the underwater pictures, and identified some of the fish we saw, I’m looking forward to going back to another reef to find some of the fish we didn’t see. These reefs are isolated from each other, with a sandy bottom in between. Much of the fish on one reef, therefore, stay there; aside from the bigger fish, like perhaps the barracuda and some of the larger schools, I doubt they migrate to another reef. So one’s experience is likely to be different each time as to which species of fish may be present.
We sailed on to Hope Town, which Skip and I had seen earlier before Michael and Fish came to visit. It’s such a picturesque little town, with charming little houses in pastel colors, each one with it’s own name (as they do in England), and manicured lawns with native blooming shrubs, bordered by picket fences. Predominantly, everyone walks on the island, although we did see a couple of bicycles and a golf cart or two. Again, there was a wonderful beach on the ocean side with some reefs off it within snorkeling distance – perhaps we’ll go back there to explore before we leave the area. As we arrived by dinghy in Hope Town, we tied up next to a fisherman who was unloading his catch for the day, and bought enough Wahoo for two nights. Skip grilled it out on the barbie, (after marinating in Mojo) and it was fresh and scrumptious.
Back in Marsh Harbour the next day, Skip and I went off to a dermatologist, who spent a great deal of time inspecting our sun-ravaged skin with a magnified lens, removed a questionable spot on my back, and otherwise gave us both a clean bill of health in between quizzing us about living life on a boat, in the permanent sense of the word. That done, we spent our last evening on board with Michael and Fish playing Hearts. It had been a really lovely 12 days with them; they were both highly interested in all the sea and shore life, and both are avid (however, short-term) campers, so there were no unpleasant surprises for them in our lifestyle, and we expect and hope to see them again further down the Bahamian chain.
Since they left, Skip and I have hung idly on the anchor in Marsh Harbour. We’ve caught up with all the computer “chores”, (editing and putting up pictures, writing our logs, doing some accounting) and have been walking the town, meeting the cruisers that are starting to arrive, making some good friends along the way, and reading voraciously. Sometime this week, we’ll pull up the anchor and head back to Great Guana, perhaps, to go and see on foot what we didn’t have time to do with Michael and Fish, and, no doubt, meet increasingly more cruisers as the season begins. They are, all of them almost without exception, the best kind of people in our minds, and every one of them has an interesting story to tell.
Be happy, be well, and make each day count, as we are.
Love, Lydia
S/V Flying Pig
Morgan 46 #2
"The only way to live is to have a dream green and growing in your life - anything else is just existing and is a waste of breath."
Ann Davison
Lydia Fell
Nov 21, 2009, 9:32:18 AM11/21/09
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