Ahoy, friends! It’s me, Karl, your favorite sassy, four-legged first mate, back with more tales from the high seas of the Bahamas. Grab a treat and settle in, because it’s time to sail down memory lane.
After we left the charming little marina village of West End, we did a lot of sailing. And I mean a LOT. Like, a truly impressive, ear-flapping, big sniffing, nose in the breeze, amount of sailing. We headed north, all the way around Grand Bahama Island. It was GRAND. That’s probably why they called it that. Hee hee.
The palm trees were swaying, the breeze was steady, and yours truly was doing an excellent job of supervising everything from the bow. The wind was coming from the east, though, which was a problem because east was exactly where we were trying to go most days. Inconvenient. I filed a formal complaint with the weather, but so far, no response.
We rounded the end of Grand Bahama and sailed across the top to our next destination: Great Abaco Island. Even bigger and more impressive than Grand Bahama. The Bahamas really commits to the naming convention around here.
The Mystery of Fox Town (Spoiler: No Foxes)
We anchored near a town called Fox Town near the top of Great Abaco, and I’ll be honest. I had expectations. You can imagine my disappointment. Not one fox. Not even a hint of fox. Zero foxes in Fox Town. I looked. Thoroughly. I sniffed. Extensively. Nothing.
BUT, and this is important, there were bells. Every morning and every evening, bells rang out over the water. They were cheerful and bright and honestly? Very on-brand for a place I was visiting. Cheery things recognize other cheery things. I rate Fox Town highly on the basis of bells alone.
The town was lively too, with people buzzing from one end to the other. We stayed tucked in the sheltered bay for two nights while the winds howled and the Atlantic made it very clear that it was in charge. Safety first is our motto on this boat, so we hunkered down behind a stretch of land that blocked the worst of the waves and waited it out.
Being grounded meant no dinghy trips to shore. No swimming. No adventures. Just boat chores, staring longingly at the water, and me doing my solemn duty of supervising and protecting the whole family, which I did with great dedication and only moderate sighing. Mom declared it a wonderful opportunity to “catch up on work.” I declared it boring. We had a respectful disagreement about this. I won, morally.
Something Cay (Yes, That’s What I’m Calling It)
After two very long days of nothingness, we finally pulled anchor and pointed the bow toward our next stop: a place I’ll call Something Cay. That’s pronounced Key, by the way. Like the thing you use to unlock a door. I can’t tell you the actual name because some very interesting things were happening there, and a good first mate knows when to be discreet. I’m nothing if not professional.
Something Cay had a little marina with a small grocery, and this was a momentous occasion: our first freshies in over a month. That’s what Mom calls raw fruits and vegetables, and apparently they are hard to come by out here. She reported paying five dollars for a single bell pepper. I don’t fully understand money, but based on her face, that was a lot. I personally think bell peppers are worth any price and she should have bought ten. She also bought lettuce, which I cannot explain. Yuck.
The island itself was absolutely EPIC for walking. There used to be a big resort there, but some fellow bought it and apparently decided the “resort” part was optional. Now it sits mostly empty, this huge, silent hotel with an extremely spooky, very much a scary movie energy. Axe murderer vibes. Significant axe murderer vibes. I kept a close eye on things, as is my responsibility.
Out over the water, there was a beautiful old cabana slowly being reclaimed by the sea, crumbling and crashing and dramatic in the best way. We walked all over that island, every corner of it, and the best part? Dad let me off leash. Off leash, people. Full freedom. I ran. I explored. I was magnificent.
I had lost all my Chuck-It balls to the ocean at this point, one by one, swallowed by the deep, but Dad had a solution: coconuts. He let me carry a coconut whenever I wanted. I want to be clear that a coconut is not as easy to play fetch with as you’d think. It’s awkward and lumpy and doesn’t bounce predictably. But was it fun? Absolutely. 10 out of 10. Coconut ball is a legitimate sport and I will die on this hill.
One day, Dad and I returned from a very important coconut relocation mission to find Mom pulling Dad aside with a look on her face that I did not like one bit. I couldn’t believe my beautiful ears. I think she was whispering, but who was she trying to fool? I have radar-level hearing, people. Every. Word.
We are almost out of kibble.
I had to sit down.
We were already waiting for a weather window to cross The Whale. Not an ocean beast, though that would also be concerning. The Whale is an ocean channel where the water goes from very deep to very shallow in a short stretch, and when conditions are wrong, enormous waves form and can crash a boat in an instant. You can only cross it when the weather cooperates, and the weather had not been cooperating. The real grocery stores were on the other side. The little marina had nothing. We had already been stretching things by mixing eggs into my food for days, which I actually didn’t mind, but that is beside the point entirely.
Completely out of Shep food? What series of decisions led us here? This isn’t life back home where someone can jump in the Jeep and zip to the store. We are on an island in the Bahamas, and the closest real store is on the other side of a ship-crushing nautical gauntlet called The Whale. I stared at my parents. They stared at each other. I resumed staring at them. Someone needed to answer for this…
I have SO much more to tell you, but it’s time for my shakey pill and my walk, and both of those things are non-negotiable on this vessel.
More adventures coming soon, friends. This creepy little island wasn’t done with us yet.
Karl out.