Fishing with sharks

Approaching Spanish Cay on Tuesday morning, Justin radioed ahead to check on the process for customs. Do they board? Do we wait on board until the captain has us cleared in?  Frankly the energy aboard was palatable, albeit tempered slightly with the realization that ‘they’could decide we weren’t suitable for entry. Quinn quickly straightened up his berth (seriously impressive), Che flipped a quarter off his mattress I believe in spite. Gherty looked a bit nervous and hid her clothes behind a mound of loveys. 

“You can meet her at the bar,” came the reply. We let the kids finish straightening up before divulging that customs would be simple enough.  When paperwork and fees passed hands we were free to leave the vessel and step on Bahamian soil. 

Cue the sharks. Seriously. Exaggerate? Well I needn’t. Their numbers were great and their lengths were long. 6-10 foot long swarming the transom and the neighboring boats. On closer look, the other docked boats were large sport fishing boats.  Filled with fishermen. Rods at the ready and the rest. Spanish Cay’s location makes it rather ideal for a going out to sea and bringing back the bounty. The guts are tossed in to the harbor and thus the sharks do feed. 

Falling in…not an option. Luckily the sharks had more to convey in threats than we did. On the dock, we received word of all the wonderful places to explore on the island, where the sharks did not frequent. We geared up and strolled down the path to a beachy cove that legged under shallow waters to Goat Cay.  

Call me what you will but I choose often to observe in this life, taking adventures in different form but likely from a viewing point. Snorkeling little appeals to me. I love the sea. I love marine animals and fish and reefs. But I am good with watching from a distance and hearing tell. Soooo…all took to snorkeling and I took my quick dive and float in the water. This may or may not have anything to do with seeing Jaws when I was six at the drive-in the week before we moved to the Jersey shore. 

Coral, barracudas, tropical reef fish, sea urchins…all within an arms length of our intrepid swimmers. The kids learned the various techniques of signaling and approaching, while breathing calmly under water. 

Spanish Cay was a great entrance to the Bahamas. The kids fished off the dock. Yes, with the sharks. And even caught a couple…let’s just say we let those get away. Blue skies and turquoise waters in barely describable wind changed to grey and black skies and waters of royal and navy. The wind picking up and squalls moving in. And then back again. 

We awoke this morning with the promise of more weather and a yearning for Green Turtle Cay. We cast off with lots of shoving as the wind pushed the lovely Madame toward the pilings. We trailed the dinghy, as we plan to do until we make our passage to Puerto Rico. 

The hour and half sail turned questionable as squall lines perpetuated in our designed path. We opted for an hour of anchorage along a sandy shore while one, then two, then three squalls rumbled through. And through a small pocket of clearing we continued along our way. 

The entrance to Green Turtle is skinny. The markers are barely balloons, where not even two boats may pass. The dredged channel is supposedly 7 feet but we had readings well down in the fives (and we draw 6.5). Somehow we never hit bottom but were assured by its sandy bottom nonetheless. 

We were instructed in docking by an able hand (luckily, given the instructions!). When we brought Madame Geneva to her slip, all tied up but just one length of line missing…needed at the piling off the bow, I assured Justin I could lasso it. With a few curt swirls of the rope (yes that is the correct term in THIS case), I lassoed the piling on the first try. And to this day, I can sign off. 

Stay tuned and much love.