Part 6 -- Guana Cay to End
I certainly hope no one got the wrong impression from that last page, that somehow one young woman alone in the middle of the Sea of Abaco on a sailboat meant that there would be some hanky panky. As a one-captain-woman, it meant nothing more than galley duty would be mine alone now, since Theresa has left me.
Anyway, we sail on for another 15 miles Friday afternoon, all the way from Hopetown to Delia's Cove on Guana Cay. This shallow bay is the one just north of Settlement Harbour (which has poor holding), which the former Guana Beach Resort fronts. Because of the shallowness of the bay, the space for safe anchoring is small, so the boats are pretty close together, but we've all managed to get in without mishap. What is ripe for mishap here, however, is getting ashore! At low tide, the bottom of the ladder to the dock is about 3 feet ABOVE the water -- climbing up took a leap of faith. Somehow, we managed it, then strolled through Guana Beach Resort (which is showing evidence of re-building) and the Settlement and on across to Nipper's.
Nipper's has certainly expanded since my last visit in 1998 -- the pool was not there then, but it sure looks like fun. The infamous log cabins next door, however, are an aberration, and I can't imagine what genius decided they would be appropriate on one of the most beautiful tropical beaches on the planet, next to the quintessential beach bar. There is also some seriously noisy excavation happening on the beach, so the atmosphere at Nipper's is a bit tainted today. Although I've recovered from last night's adventures at Pete's, there is no way I'm drinking anything with alcohol in it today, and stick to iced tea. While hanging around the bar, I spy the business card of an attorney with whom Cap'n Rick has done business stapled to a support post -- it is such small world!
We head back to Easy Breeze for our last dinner afloat -- potatoes, baked beans, and bratwurst (my parents had the audacity to raise the saltwater creature that I am in the Midwest, and every now and then I flatten a vowel or grill a brat just to be reminded of where I came from). We also manage to do a little packing up. The night is a rough one the wind is gusty and the anchorage rolly. Cap'n Rick gets up a few times to check the anchor, and we get hit by a squall around 2 am. As frequent charterers, the 2 am hatch and clothespin drill is a familiar one, and we can manage it in our sleep. Alas, I didn't have to manage it in my sleep, because I can't sleep at all tonight.
Saturday morning, we get up around 7 am and start to prepare the boat for its surrender. To my dismay, we have leftover a case of Kalik and 2 bottles of pineapple rum. Within the hour, we are off for Marsh Harbour, screaming along at 7 knots or more (to a monohull sailor, 7 knots feels like "screaming"). By 10:30, we are pulling into Long's Landing, and Mike Houghton boards and steers us over to the Conch Inn's fuel docks to fill all of our tanks. Then back to Long's Landing.
We off-load quickly, and I ask Mike if he wants our leftover Kalik. He tells us that there is apparently a shortage of Kalik in Marsh Harbour, and his next charterers would probably buy them off us, which they did. This was, effectively, the extent of our "check-out" with Sail Abaco, in addition to the fond farewells we shared with Mike. We pile into a cab, which takes us to the ferry dock, and soon we are back on our way to Hopetown (again), where we were looking forward to spending our last night in Abaco at the Abaco Inn, where we had reserved oceanfront rooms (or so we thought . . .).
When the Abaco Inn van deposited me and Cap'n Rick in front of Room 15, however, I sensed that something was quite wrong. For starters, not only were we not on the ocean side of the road, we did not even have a view of the nice part of the harbour; instead, we had a rather crummy view of a large wrecked boat (and the noise of a compressor running to bail water out of it), trash bins, a toolshed, and work materials. The room was very small (albeit clean) and had a kitchenette, and looked more like staff quarters than a guest room at one of the finest hotels in Abaco. Jeff and Kevin's room, though nicer, had a view of the backs of the oceanfront units.
We went straight for the office and let Jeff do the talking because he not only made the reservations but also works for a huge hotel corporation. Notwithstanding the fact that we had made our reservations for oceanfront rooms last November AND re-confirmed them a few weeks before arrival, no one had told us that the Abaco Inn's new ownership no longer lets out oceanfront rooms to one-night visitors, and as a result we were booted. In addition, the Abaco Inn now charges a $40/night premium for one-night stays (but they didn't charge us this fee). We were justifiably angry and disappointed, but cool heads prevailed and Jeff negotiated for all of us a discount off the standard room rate, which was nothing less than our due, given the lack of information and the lesser accommodations we were given. Frankly, had I known the result, we would have planned to return to the U.S. on Saturday. (Any of you out there who reserved rooms at the Abaco Inn before December should double-check to make sure you are getting what you expected so as to avoid disappointment).
We left that snafu behind us and piled into our rented golf cart. Destination: Tahiti Beach with a cooler full of our last few Kaliks. I drove, not being afraid of the left side. First,
we passed the eerie dunescape which has taken over the areas between the Abaco Inn and Sea Spray. As Sea Spray had been our home base in past visits, it was shocking to see that all of the homes in that area had been wiped out, supplanted by blowing, shifting sands. Once past the Sea Spray, the landscape became more familiar. Tahiti Beach itself is still lovely, and in some respects, better than ever. About half of the palm trees are gone, but those that remain are enough to retain that South Pacific feel. Meanwhile, there is much more sand on the beach than ever before, and its easier to find yourself a secluded spot.
We deposited ourselves on the beach and explored the drying sand flat. I know how awful we are to be entertained at the expense of others, but we did have a few chuckles at the clueless rental boaters who parked their boats at the edge of the sand while the lowering tide left them grounded harder and harder (we'd have had a real hoot if we'd stayed around to watch them try to leave). I napped a bit (face down in a book, as is my wont), having slept not at all the night before. A few sprinkles spattered us, but sun peaked out often enough to illuminate the brilliant water and sand.
By 4, we've had enough, so we run back to the Abaco Inn for our first REAL showers in 8 days, and agree to reconvene at 5:15 for drinks and munchies (having skipped lunch). The Inn's conch fritters are fantastic, and they do a nice job with nachos. For dinner, we head to the Sea Spray, and check out the grounds. The staircase to the beach is gone, and I notice that a lot of the oceanfront villas are now painted in colors different than the old pink, leading me to guess that they were re-constructed after Floyd. Inveterate sailors, we also check out the Florida Yachts fleet (though we were more than pleased with Sail Abaco and would definitely sail with them again). Dinner was wonderful: conch chowder and grouper, topped off with key lime pie.
We retire early, and a huge thunderstorm rolls through about 5am. We wake to a cool, cloudy morning and partake of Abaco Inn's $10 breakfast buffet. We spend the rest of our time strolling, watching the ocean, and enjoying our last taste of grouper and conch for a while. At 1 pm, we head for the ferry, ferry back to Marsh Harbour, and on to the airport, Miami and finally back to Maryland, where it is 42 degrees and blowing 30 mph upon our return. We look pretty ridiculous in shorts and Tevas, but those are the only clothes that match my fresh tan and blonder hair.
Final thoughts: While in Hopetown Harbour, watching the other boats as we always do, Cap'n Rick and I spied the twin of our own sailboat, a blue-hulled Sabre. It wasn't a far leap to picture us in the same place, on our own Lattitudes II, someday. Cap'n Rick and I travel the islands a lot, and we'll continue to visit other islands. But Abaco is the only place that sings to me, calling me back in spirit if not in body. It's beauty is not only physical, but in the spirit of the people who live there and who visit. I hope that progress doesn't damage its special-ness and am certain that I'll be back, bringing along others with whom I want to share the magic that is Abaco.
That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.
Back to 16.
