12/10/09 Arriving in the Bahamas – dan
We had a beautiful day of sailing in 14-18 nmp of wind as we made our way westward along the coast of the D.R. and then Haiti. Gypsy made the best mileage so far, riding those winds and large 8’ – 12’ swells - she did 155nm in 24 hours. It was dark before we were clear the coast of Haiti and we were approaching the eastern tip of Cuba. All the shipping in this area was headed to or from, Florida and the Golf of Mexico was squeezed into Old Bahamas Channel. We were also concerned about small boats out of Haiti & Cuba so we worked through the night doing short, two-hour watches and being extra vigilante. We did see a lot of boat traffic during our passage, fortunately none of it was overtly threatening.
Twenty-six hours later we arrived at Matthew Town, Great Inagua Island, the Bahamas. We were dead tired from the previous night’s ordeal of short intense watches. Susan had a little difficulty with anchoring, which I addressed with some harsh works. We were both overtired and you can imagine how well (not) those harsh words landed. After securing Gypsy we inflated and launched the dinghy and proceeded to search out where we needed to check in.
Great Inagua posed a sharp contrast the D.R. The first thing we noticed was that they had a lot better boats here, especially those of the Defense Force like the one pictured below. I think that if the Bahamians ever wanted to invade the D.R., the Bahamians would win. I also suspect the Dominicans wouldn’t mind, as long as they bought something while they were there.
Next I noticed the difference in cars. Where as the people of the D.R. tend to pile lots of folks onto small motorcycles and into tiny cars and often have to contend with rutted roads and rugged, hilly terrain, the people on Great Inagua have fairly good roads, dead flat terrain but tend to drive around alone or in pairs in large American pickup trucks. Both populations are very friendly and it wasn’t long before an older man driving a pickup and drinking a beer offered us a ride.
Another thing the people of both islands seem to share is a love for television. When we entered the customs office there was a TV on in front of the officials that was playing an American soap opera. The officials themselves were all in uniform, very professional, helpful and courteous. We were soon officially checked into the country. On our way back to Gypsy we talked about the anchor incident, and I made my apologies. Sometimes it takes more that a simple apology to make things better. In this case it took my apologies and 14 hours of uninterrupted sleep on Susan’s part to work their magic.
The next day we awoke to a gloriously beautiful morning feeling refreshed and whole again. Susan made us a delicious breakfast; an omelet and potato pancakes. When I realized I was forgiven the sun shined all the more brightly and Susan suggested we take the bikes ashore to see the sights. That turned out to be a terrific idea.
Great Inagua is not often visited and known for two things: Morton salt works and the pink flamingos. We landed our bikes and headed off in search of both. It’s a good thing I didn’t know that the salt works were 8 miles away or the flamingo preserve was another 4 miles further or I may not have gone for it, but ignorance is indeed bliss and off we went.
After peddling for miles we came to a mountain, the only one in sight. Well is it seemed like a mountain compared to the pool-table flatness of the rest of the island. In actuality it was only a 40’ high hill and being the only feature in sight I suggested we climb it. We quickly scrambled up to the top and I then claimed this desolate land “in the name of the King of Spain” in recognition and as reward for bring the world the Spanish Inquisition. Seemed like a fitting gesture.
The interior of the island is an amazingly bleak and blasted landscape. We had passed a sign indicating and iguana preserve but the only lizards that I ever saw on the island were way back in town, drinking rum and looking very happily evolved. After a good long ride we arrived at the banks of a shallow salt drying pond, part of 12,000 acres of such ponds on the island. Off in the distance a mountain of gleaming salt shined brightly in the strong afternoon sunlight.
Further down the road we came to the bank of a 12-mile long Lake Windsor, home of the pink flamingos. The lake looked as blasted as the landscape but there implausibly, off in the distance we could see a couple of dozen pink flamingos wading in the water. I couldn’t remember if I had ever seen a live flamingo before. My memories are crowded with innumerable flamingos adoring countless lawns all across of America. That, plus a lifetime of seeing them in a myriad of wildlife films. I can’t be certain but I suspect these may have been the first wild flamingos I’ve ever seen. It was a such surreal sight to see these very large and festive looking birds looking comfortable in such an austere and bleak landscape. Susan thinks they look better here than in stuck a neighbor’s front yard.
As we peddled the 12 miles back to the dinghy it got hotter and hotter and a delicious fantasy begun to build in my mind. We paused to drink the last of our water and then drove onward. I pictured myself, upon arrival at our dinghy tossing my bike down and running into those turquoise waters, cooling my entire body and melding with all those shades of blue. The more I peddled the more real my fantasy became until I could see every tiny detail, feel the water, even taste it’s tangy saltiness on my lips.
As we rounded the last bend in the road I used my last once of energy to hasten my arrival. With the beach and our dink in sight, just as my aquatic fantasy and core body temperature were at a crescendo, a bomb landed on me. Susan asked if we could ride on into town. I couldn’t believe it, how could she ruin such a beautiful fantasy. I was devastated. I hate to deny Susan anything but the water beckoned me with a desire stronger that a team of Clydesdales. Suddenly a possible compromise popped into my poor boiled brain; could we stop for a swim first, and then proceed to town? As I thought about it, I was amazed that my cognitive functions were still operative and then eternally grateful when Susan agreed to the suggestion.
I plunged into that water like a man who had ridden 24 miles across a desert island. The water was a perfect temperature; just cold enough to be chilling and warm enough to stay in all day, mmmmmmmmmmm I was in heaven.
Once cooled down enough we got back on our bikes and peddled the two miles into Matthew Town. The town isn’t much to behold and looks like it had seen better days. We stopped in the tiny grocery store where my first order of business was to purchase two ice-cold ginger beers and then stepped out side to down them. We then toured the town, past a loud electrical generator plant, past a couple of churches, then past a couple of schools. Six blocks later we were on the far edge of town. We circled back to the store and picked up a few groceries and two six-packs of that ginger beer then headed back to Gypsy, tired and satisfied.
I snorkeled under the boat to check for growth. Luperon harbor is famous for fouling bottoms. Our bottom was in pretty good shape but prop and engine cooling water intake were covered in young barnacles so I cleaned them.
We were the only boat anchored within the huge outer bay. It was just our small boat with an unobstructed view of horizon stretching off to the west of us. That night after enjoying Susan’s stir-fry dinner in the cockpit we watched for the green flash as the sun headed under the horizon. Not yet for the flash but it was then that we started what I hope will be an institution for us going forward; a kiss at sunset.