Now’s you can’t leave

We have spent the last few days on one of the most beautiful islands, with pink sands and crystal clear water.  When our feet touched the pink shores, if was as if we walked on cotton.  We have dined, at times, like kings and queens. Fresh and a la fresco from a coffee roasters’ haven to an Italian’s harbour.  We have walked in the heat of the sun and we have ducked under a lean to or two as the rain came pouring down.  We rented a cart and flitted about Harbour Island, exploring the beaches, the stores, and the various states of ‘pair (re- and disre-) of the architecture.

Beauty.  Experiencing the beauty but feeling unable to contribute to the beauty.  Initially we anchored between Valentine’s and Romero Bay.  We dinghied ashore.  We opted for a slip last night and when Valentine’s was full, we went to Romero Marina.  We were the only sailboat.  Sport fishers, large motor yachts, but no sailboats.  All from Florida.  To travel all this way, on our family’s quest for something still exactly unknown, and yet finding ourselves on vacation.  But we aren’t looking for vacation…

Being at odds with the common nature in such a pretty place makes you feel a bit ungracious.  But with lazy comes restlessness and perhaps more than a share of selfishness.  We carry with us a precious cargo.  We are five souls aboard.  We left family and friends in Charleston with the promise of adventure and safety.  We did not leave for vacation.  There are hints at mutiny from the little ones.  Quinn declares he no longer wants to swim, or snorkel, or go to the beach.  He just wants to read.  Che says he wants to go home.  Gherty (true spirit of all of us) says she is not ready to leave until the trip is over.  They are all ready to begin our homeschooling.

We left out of Harbour Island later this morning than intended with designs of going out Ship Channel (just a few rocks of concern and some shifting sands but certainly no Devil’s Backbone) and around the outside “the long way”.  We had Allen Cays in mind but had some other ideas afloat.  And then we landed (even if gently) on a sandbar.  I guess the shifting sands shifted.  All charts gave amble depth…  Snug and dug, we sat on that bar for four hours.  The weather was mild so we were not so much concerned as feeling the signs of being out of tune.  Oddly quite a few motor boats passed but none stopped until we were there about three hours.  Jet powered, that fellow could not help with any tow but he did part with the words: “You’re on vacation, not probation.”

We tried quite a few methods to get off the bar.  We kedged.  We tugged.  We gunned reverse with any notion of waves.  We jumped on the bow.  But really we just waited on the tide to change.  And change it did.  Eventually.  After much soul searching.  After many demerits on our resilience.

But here is the thing.  My brother had surgery yesterday.  He is a lot of pain.  He has had more tests to body and soul these last years than any would wish on their worst enemy.  And when I talked to him today, I could hear him smiling.  So if the only beauty I can give right now is to pass on the beauty I see, than so be it.

We are back at anchor.  Back at Harbour Island.  Tomorrow we will call our buddy, A1, our pilot through the Devil’s Backbone.  A man we literally can only understand when he says, “HELLLLLOOOOO?!”  Tomorrow we will call this guy to get us back through, so we can go on down into the Exumas.  And we can figure things out from there.  After all, I think it was my mom who said, “Don’t make plans when you are on vacation.”

Much love and stay tuned.