I'm anxious to get off the boat. Yes, rain can be a fact of life on vacation. Sometimes you even look forward to a day when you don't have to clog your pores and trash your clothes with head-to-toe sunscreen. But on a boat, the misery of rain is compounded. The hatches all need to be shut so ventilation is lousy. There is nowhere to hang your damp or wet clothes outside, so every interior non-cloth surface has towels and swimsuits draped over it. And it gets humid, so humid that it feels like its about to rain INSIDE. In fact, all of Trinket's pretty plaid cushions were wicking up humidity as if they were those little packets of silica gel, and the moisture was breeding mildew. Get me OFF this thing FAST!!
We had barely dropped the anchor, and I was jumping in the dinghy. I didn't even care if it was raining. We took the dinghy over to the dock at the Guana Beach Resort, which anchors Fisher's Bay and its pretty sandy beach, but the place was totally deserted, bearing signs from a recent auction of the property. Not wanting to dither too much over where we should go to lunch, we headed to tried-and-true Nipper's, just a short walk beyond the Settlement (I always get a chuckle over the radio calls for the Nippermobile to pick people up at the ferry dock it's only a 5 minute walk along well-marked paths).
How many frozen Nipper's does it take... This amazing technicolor tractor is parked along the road to Nipper's.
When we arrived at Nipper's, a break in the clouds allowed the sun to temporarily illuminate the beach -- which is spectacularly lovely -- and the brightly colored tables and stools. But the clouds soon closed back in and I ordered up a Frozen Nipper; if I can't see the sun, then I'll drink something that makes me feel equally warm. Despite the weather and the relatively late hour for lunch (2 p.m.), Nipper's had a respectable number of diners, especially on the covered upper decks. We run into the Coloradans on the motor yacht; they'd given up on Manjack as well and were looking for a marina for the night because they needed shore power to run AC (their generator had failed). I hardly ever use AC at home, even in the depths of a Chesapeake summer, so having it on a boat is un-imaginable to me! While we wait for lunch, I sneak into the gift shop to pick up Barefoot Man and Stone McEwan CDs and more insect repellent. (The
Barefoot Man CD, "Just Another Sunset," is DEFINITELY not for children )
After eating and drinking, we hit the beach for a long walk and swim. Although the Sea of Abaco is kicked up by the weather, the Atlantic Ocean side, protected from the westerly winds, is relatively calm today. But even though we're enjoying a pretty calm afternoon, we need to head back to Fisher's Bay to make sure we haven't dragged anchor. We find that Trinket hasn't budged an inch, and she remains just as firmly anchored all night, despite strong winds. The rain continues to come and go the rest of the night, and after a dinner of spaghetti bolognese, we retire early.
Thursday morning, there aren't many options more attractive than staying right here at Great Guana Cay. The forecast for rain remains unchanged, as a large low pressure system has parked itself over Florida, drawing lots of Caribbean moisture into the region. Nevertheless, the cloud cover seems to be thinning, and we decide to have a beach day whether or not it rains (heck, we're going to be wet wherever we go, right?). We also look into the possibility of a dive or snorkel excursion with Dive Guana, which is located right in Fisher's Bay; however, Troy is off trying to save lives with BASRA, so that remains sketchy. We take our handheld VHF with us, just in case Troy plans an outing today and calls us, but that never materializes.
As delightful as this sidewalk in Great Guana Cay's settlement is, it ends up on an even appealing stretch of endless ocean beach.
We spent a lazy morning on the ocean beach, hiking, swimming and reading enduring only a few sprinkles. We head back to Trinket for a lunch of BLTs made on the last of our Bahamian bread, and then return to the beach. But first we grab a pair of Frozen Nippers for the road, as we are planning to walk to an area called High Rocks and will need the sustenance for the journey. We have brought our Tevas with us for the trip, even though they have acquired a most unseemly stench from the constant soakings they've received, because we'll want foot protection to get around the rocks. High Rocks is a tall outcropping of rocks south of Nipper's; at low tide, we were able to climb over the rocks at the water's edge, to find a small, private area of beach surrounded by the rocks. Further south, the beach opens up again, strewn with boulders both on the sand and in the water. At the south end, the rocks are undercut, forming a tall overhang under which we can hide our stuff from the rain. Rick snorkels for close to an hour (reporting decent snorkeling), while I scramble around the rocks and the pools formed between them. It's a magical spot, despite the grey skies and sprinkles.
On our return trip, we note that Floyd's bar at the Guana Beach Resort appears to be open for business, so we have no choice but to order a pair of Guana Grabbers. As we sit, sipping our drinks and watching the Fisher's Bay anchorage, we notice another one of Sail Abaco's PDQ catamarans entering the anchorage. I remember Mike mentioning that this boat, Goodbye Columbus, was carrying sailors from Poland, so once they've anchored, Rick and I decide to invite them aboard Trinket
for cocktails. We swing by in the dink, and I dust off my rusty Polish and issue the invitation, which they accept cheerfully (and somewhat surprised to find someone speaking their tongue). I warned them that though my Polish speaking is creaky, I understand EVERYTHING, so they would need to behave themselves.
A lone sea oat guards the path to Great Guana's ocean beach.
Of course, now that we've invited guests, we have to clean house as well as ourselves, and have just an hour to do it. But we hurry up and take showers, hide all of our soggy stuff out of sight, put together a batch of Painkillers and cocktail munchies, and put on some island music. At exactly 6, our guests -- Jack, Andrew, Alicia and Halina (translated) -- arrive bearing gifts. Despite the language barrier, we spend a pleasant hour sharing tales of island sailing.
After the Goodbye Columbus crew departed, we were on our own. We made our traditional last night dinner (because we would have dinner out Friday) of grilled steak, potatos, salad and red wine. Can't say I've ever had a better steak in the islands. The rain had stopped, so we spent the evening on the trampoline, snuggling but without any stars to stare at.
