Recollections of the Bahamas

A Week in the Bahama Breeze with Scouts from Troop 234

It has been over a month since we returned, seven Scouts and me, from an all too brief venture on the Sea of Abaco with Scouting's Bahamas High Adventure Sea Base. I sit in my study now sipping coffee from my Sea Base mug, happily recalling sights and sounds from the trip. Following are random, if roughly chronological, recollections before the memories fade too much - which happens too quickly these days for this old man!

Our trip did not begin well. Driving from Orlando to Ft. Lauderdale we caught up to a blinding storm on the Florida Turnpike and saw another hanging over our destination. Arriving at the airport, we found that storm had moved off shore and we were good to go - right into the storm in our two small Cessna air craft holding four of us each. After bouncing and dodging the storm, diving into the soup, we eventually landed at the Marsh Harbor airport in sun light. However, by the time we got through customs and were ready to load the taxi, our storm had caught up to us again, soaking us both getting into the taxi and unloading at the Marina. Some stuff never did dry out. . . .

"Captain Bob" greeted us with, "Welcome aboard the Pellucid - please take off your deck shoes and flip flops. We go barefoot on this boat." That was the first of many happy customs we enjoyed on the good ship Pellucid, a cutter rigged sail boat over 40' from stern rigging to bow sprit (see her at www.pellucid.org).

After a brief orientation on board, we motored out of the Marina and Marsh Harbor and opened the jib to sail south toward the sugarloaf islands to anchor for the night.

Bram, the crew chief, did a fine job setting up duty schedules - everyone took turns in the galley, either preparing or cleaning up meals - both chores quite different from any other Scouting experience. The galley was small but amazingly efficient. And we found that food was everywhere in abundance - every cupboard, nook, and cranny had provisions. There was even fresh milk and eggs in a cooler and frozen foods in a freezer compartment. It was not a question of following a menu - it was more deciding each meal just what it was we might want to eat. The best provisioned Scout excursion ever!

Another duty schedule was "anchor watch." Since we most often anchored off a Cay, it was necessary to have someone on watch through the night in case the wind shifted (as it did the first night) and we could risk drifting off our anchorage. Or more rarely, in case a drunken sailor was bringing his boat to close to ours in the night, or even worse, in case someone tried to steal the dingy, someone had to be on deck awake all night.

Bram gave each Scout one hour per night, rotating each evening from 11:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m. He mercifully gave the Old Man the 5:00 a.m. watch all week so I could perhaps get a good night's sleep. However, too many nights, waking around 2 or 3 a.m. to take care of some business over the side, I would find our watch only watching the insides of his eyelids. Hey, it's a tough job. But I enjoyed being up early each morning, reading a bit of obscure Tolkien literature by flashlight until the light crept over the eastern horizon.

About 6 a.m. each morning Captain Bob would appear from his state room and prepare his morning espresso and my pot of coffee. From about 6:15 until 7:00 or even 7:30 we would sit quietly, most mornings in silence, simply watching the sun rise, feeling the breeze pick up, and watching the morning boat traffic begin to crawl out from the harbors within our view. Doesn't get more peaceful than that!

One early morning, off Man-O-War Cay, I think, as I sat with my coffee looking off the stern, I saw a large fish swimming by in the clear water. "Bob! Big fish!" was all I had time to whisper. Bob leaned over from his perch and quietly said, "Mmmmm, mutton snapper - that'd be tasty!"

Then there was the evening we had finished dinner and as darkness set in we began to notice color in the water. We were treated to a show of the mysterious phosphorescence in these tropical waters. Shimmering color at night, a show put on by small sea creatures with electric charge built into their tiny frames. Who'd have thought?

I will never forget one evening again after the sun set while anchored in Hope Town Harbor, Captain Bob appeared with a smaller version of an accordion (forgive me, I cannot remember the exact term of the instrument) and began to sing old songs of the sea. I think the lore and simple beauty of the rhyme and tunes were lost on some of the boys, but this Old Man appreciated hearing English and Irish sea ballads while anchored on a sail boat in Hope Town, off Elbow Cay in the Abacos of the Bahamas. A great evening!

One afternoon as we were beating our way back north toward Hope Town, Jon put out a line to trawl for barracuda. Using a ballyhoo for bait, sure enough, a 'cuda hit the line. He was a fighter, jumping out of the water, trying to out smart this hook in his jaw. Bob, armed with his chain mail glove, eventually pulled the small (about 3.5-4.0 feet ) monster out of the water. Hanging off the line, Bob said, "Get your pictures quick, he won't be staying long." Sure enough, no sooner had Bob spoken, the fish lunged up, snapped the line, splashed in, and was gone.

Then there was our very first foray into the water to snorkel - off Hope Town on the Atlantic side of Elbow Cay. Jeb, in his predictably good job as junior leader, was first in the water. He leaned over to look beneath the surface in about three feet of water and immediately popped back up. "Barracuda! Right here!" Sure enough the bad boy was hanging just below the surface, a mere 15-20 feet off the strand. As more of us went under to take a look, he slowly turned and disappeared into the distance.

Personal disaster almost struck at Tahiti Beach. We anchored off this pleasant point of land jutting into the Sea of Abaco just north of the Tilloo Cut. There were wide shallows, pools, plant life, shells, and fish in abundance. Because we were shelling and wading, etc. I brought my glasses with all the appropriate gear in order to enjoy the afternoon. After chasing an elusive bone fish along the shore toward the ocean cut and enjoying the wading, it was time to snorkel a bit. So I tucked my glasses, sunglasses, case, safety line and all into the zip lock bag deep into my baggy shorts pocket. I floated along with the current coming through the cut from the ocean back toward the beach and channel, enjoying the bottom, the shells, urchins, sea biscuits, etc. I stopped to show some boys a small crab in a shell to discover that my glasses were gone! The current had quietly but successfully swept them out of my pocket. After feverishly searching, scrambling out into the current to try to find them, it was clear they were gone. A deep disappointment akin to despair began to set in - my eyes are nearly useless without corrective lenses - all the color and sunsets, and sights I would miss over the next three or four days - I was sad already. A half hour later as I walked along the point of sand, a man came along in a dingy asking if anyone had lost glasses in the water - he had my zip lock bag! I blathered excessive thanks and blessings on him and his household and asked where he found them. He pointed to his sailboat - a good 600-800 yards out and north in the channel. He had been sitting there and saw the bag float by from the direction of the beach. He said to me, "I know how badly I need my glasses - I knew someone would be missing these." So he lowered his dingy, plucked the bag out, and worked his way along the beach until I heard him saying, "Anyone loose some glasses?" What are the chances of that? The rest of the day I spent in a post-adrenaline state of euphoria.

I enjoyed seeing the young men enjoy the boat in different ways - Joey just sitting on the deck enjoying the sun and the breeze; Spencer standing on the bow sprit as far forward as possible, being the first one to meet the oncoming wind; Jon and Kevin enjoying time at the helm; Bryce fully engaged in every activity whether cooking or snorkeling, exploring some Cay village or taking inventory of provisions. And everyone of them intensely loving their sleep.

Then there was the strangely satisfying feeling of salty, crusty hair - can't describe it - almost was sorry to shampoo at the marina on our return.

I hope I never forget the burning sensation in the arm muscles after winching in the jib in a good wind. We all got a shot at pulling the sail across as we came about into the wind. No matter how fast you pulled, the sail was so big and caught so much wind, that the final winching to set it properly strained the muscles. But for some reason, when you finished working the winch, you felt like this was a good muscle burn. It meant that you were using an ancient method, tried and true, of harnessing power much greater than you, so perhaps it was right that it cost just a bit.

The overcast clouds for much of the trip limited our view of Bahamian sunsets, but we did get a couple. But oh, the breeze. I cannot imagine the sunsets could compare with that breeze.

Just as I expected sunsets but got breezes, I had expected to get some quality time with my sons Jeb and Bram, to talk together about life, education, the future; but I got something else instead. Just as you can't see the breeze like sky colors, there was a quality of shared experience being together on the water, in the water, with the other young men. Though not what I expected, still, this was rich for me. I was grateful to see these two young men lead others - a small group, yes - but to do so comfortably, naturally. And I have to admit, it was nice being able simply to sit back, relax, and enjoy the view - the view of life being lived as well as the view of cays, skies, and hypnotically beautiful translucent waters.

Unrivaled though was the kaleidoscope of color waiting under the water at the reefs. Sandy Cay Reef, part of a Bahamian National Park, revealed huge colorful coral of all types: huge stag horns, brain corals, fans, kinds you can't describe. Then there were the fish - amazing blues, stripes of various colors, blends, fantastic. The same was repeated on a smaller - and perhaps a more personal - level at Mermaid Reef just outside of Marsh Harbor on the last afternoon. What a way to finish!

I was impressed that though some of us were novice snorkelers, by week's end, all were holding their own in the surf, managing to mingle well with the fish and sea life.

There is a feeling about being on the water in a boat for an extended period of time. You know this is not your natural habitat. Man was made for the land. We have neither webbed feet nor gills. So there is a feeling about being on the water; but it is both foreign, and comforting in a way I cannot fully articulate. The sea draws you back. The motion of the swells, the lapping of the chop on the keel, the wind in your face that is distinctly different than "land wind," the big-ness of the sea and the little-ness of your boat remind you that there is something awesome going on here. It is mysterious and captivating, frightening and awe-inspiring all at the same time.

Thanks for the privilege of spending the time with these fine young men.

Mike Beates

Assistant Scoutmaster, Troop 234 Longwood, Fla.