The last time I was in the Exumas, 2 years ago (see: https://sabrecalypso.wordpress.com/2017/05/16/crossing-our-wake-back-to-the-exumas/), there was buzz about a music festival to be held about the same time on a “remote” private island once owned by Pablo Escobar (in reality, remote Norman’s Cay, once owned by narco-zillionaire Carlos Lehder). Having been to Norman’s during our sabbatical, and finding the single restaurant there open only sporadically, I wondered how the festival sponsors had managed to create the infrastructure needed to host an event of such magnitude – such basics as housing, water, food, sanitation, runways for arriving private jets were missing. Of course, they hadn’t, and the actual site, a scoured white wasteland just north of Emerald Bay Marina on Great Exuma, was no more prepared.
We now know that the lauded Fyre Festival was a colossal scam. The flurry of investigations and media attention that followed showed the world that the Exumas are potentially a spectacular watery playground, but not one ready to meet the “requirements” of the young, beautiful, and moderately wealthy. Certainly, there is a handful of glossy resorts on Great Exuma and basic amenities in its (relatively) bustling village of Georgetown; those with serious means can have access to anything they want in the Exumas via large yacht. But, finding your way to charms of the untrammeled Exuma cays for mere mortals otherwise takes some major effort.
Naturally, as one who professes a general dislike of people (except my peeps, of course!), as well as a beach lover, the distant Exuma cays are like catnip to me. My goal this time was avoid visiting a single inhabited cay, other than Warderick Wells – whose inhabitants are merely a handful of Exuma Cays Land and Sea Park staffers and ravaging critters known as hutia – and maybe a lunch stop at Norman’s Cay. No swimming pigs; no trendy resorts; no shark swims. As it turned out, my wishes were shared by my fellow crew — Rick, Skip and Harriet – and we avoided even Norman’s Cay, devoting our week’s sail to Exuma Park.
As we did last time, we chartered a catamaran out of Nassau, the only place in the region which reliably has access to all of the necessities of a sailing charter: air service, provisions, water, fuel, ice, and a marina.
One good thing about Nassau: someone to make my drinks for me (other than me)! (And, yes, I like to take photos of pretty drinks against pretty backgrounds.)
Starting from Nassau poses challenges — depending on the time of year (and the associated prevailing winds), you can face a miserable upwind slog to or from the Exumas. Last time, we had calm seas; this time, we were not so lucky, facing heavy seas and 20+ knots of wind on the nose. As Rick and Skip noted, were we the “cruisers” we’d once been (i.e. living aboard our own boats with weeks to wait for a good weather window), we’d have stayed in the marina. As it was, given our precious 7 days, we plowed on. Even fortified with seasickness meds, Skip and Harriet were sidelined for the 7+ hours of pounding it took to get to the Exumas, while Rick manned the helm and I miraculously stayed on my feet
(NOTE TO READERS: I’ve heard lots of people suggest that a catamaran is the answer for seasickness because of its more stable platform. While it’s true that you can sometimes put a drink on the table without it crashing down, because cats don’t heel, that kind of misses the point. Catamarans have 2 hulls, which in heavy seas can take the waves at different times, resulting in hobby-horsing that can be more difficult tolerate that the more predictable motion of a monohull. But there’s no question that at anchor, nothing beats the comfort of a super-wide boat.)
The seas were so rough that our cabinets flew open and our stuff flew out. We secured some of it in the sink.
Despite our plans to go further south, to enable a leisurely sail north up the chain of cays for the rest of the week, we ended up choosing to head to the closest of the Exumas – Allen Cay – for our first night. Being the closest to Nassau, and also inhabited by endangered Exuma iguanas, Allen and the neighboring SW Allen and Leaf cays attract excursion boats carrying hit-and-run tourists. We watched them land on the beach, harass and feed the iguanas (both of which are illegal), and then leave.
Excursion boats landing on the beach at Allen Cay, and the poor rock iguanas they came to gape at.
Luckily, they don’t stay long. Once they left, we shared the anchorage with only a handful of other boats. Finally, after cleaning up the wreckage of the day’s sail, we had peace, quiet and cocktails. At last, we’re in the Exumas and in full vacation mode.
Our first night’s sundowners, and the sunset they accompanied.
In the quiet of living aboard, however, we start to see that our boat has a lot of issues. Beyond the typical wear-and-tear issues associated with charter boats. Some are merely inconvenient (e.g. grill not working, so we have to cook stovetop) and unpleasant (joker valves in toilets not functioning, so they back-flush – peew!). While others are a bit more significant (batteries not charging; deck fill cover allowing saltwater get in our freshwater tank). We are experienced and resourceful, so we cope with all of them with varying degrees of success, but we’re also prepared to share all of them with the charter company when we return. But we don’t let them get in the way of finally having reached paradise.
With the crossing from Nassau behind us, after a relatively quiet night at anchor, we decide to knock our next long passage out of the way to reach the only place outside of Exuma Park that we plan to visit: Pipe Cay. Rick and I once had a secret little nook to anchor here, but over the 2 years since we’d last visited, currents and storms changed the bottom, and we now found ourselves in a new spot – accessed by carefully winding through newly shallow waters – shared with a couple other catamarans. We arrived mid-afternoon, on an outgoing tide (yippee!). Pipe Cay checks 2 of my boxes. I am utterly beguiled by sandbars, and at low tide, Pipe Cay’s east side dries out to acres of rippled white sand intersected with flowing streams of water and warm tide pools.
Irresistible!
As well, I’ve found lots of sand dollars here, and unlike the Park, you can take them with you. There was lots of promise for dollar hunting on this day, as I’d found a perfect specimen as soon as we’d landed the dinghy.
A sand dollar in the wild — this one about the size of a silver dollar.
But it was false hope, with sparse supply; however, there was a special on sunrise tellins, so I wouldn’t go home empty-handed.
Our modest haul. I’d like to say that night’s bartender’s (i.e. mine) creation was inspired by the colors of the sunrise tellins, but in reality it was just what we happened to have on hand: rum, mango juice, and ginger ale.
Our time at Pipe Cay was short-lived, since it appeared that our anchor had dragged, and the changed bottom conditions didn’t offer much promise for good holding. I hated to give up on Pipe Cay, but I didn’t mind the hour trip to our next stop, Cambridge Cay within Exuma Park. The Park had refurbished the moorings, so we’d enjoy a secure night in an already protected anchorage. And we’d get to play in yet another of my favorite playgrounds.
The Bahamas have many “blue holes,” anomalously deep spots in otherwise shallow areas. The most famous is probably Dean’s Blue Hole on the east side of Long Island; it’s the deepest in the world. There’s a less famous, and less deep, blue spot off the beach on the south side of the Cambridge Cay harbor. I love to ease into the water off the beach here and just hover in the buoyant water over the blue hole. In May, the water is silky and comfortable, with minimal current, and it’s only my pruny hands which limit my time in the water.
Swimming in the blue hole off Honeymoon Beach at Cambridge Cay.
A short walk leads to another beach which faces the cut between Compass Cay and Cambridge Cay.
So sad (not!) that we were the only ones on the beach.
Current is not something to take lightly in the Exuma cays. When we swim off the boat, we toss out a rope tied to a life ring so that we can hold on and not be carried away.
Hanging on so as not to be swept away. (Photo borrowed from Harriet.)
As we learned on our last Exuma charter, at the famous snorkeling spot known as the Aquarium, vigilance is essential – as Harriet took an unplanned ride with the tide.
No shortage of fish life at the Aquarium.
This time, Rick and Harriet were more cautious, so we didn’t have the adrenaline rush of Harriet’s rescue following us to the haven of sandbars and swimming holes of neighboring O’Brien’s Cay. Instead, we landed the dinghy and just floated happily away. Were it not for our poor hands and feet and hides (over-exposure to sun and water), we could have stayed for hours.
Swimming at O’Brien’s Cay.
Despite the dreamy water, some day-to-day activities are required of us. Since we’ve opted to avoid civilization almost entirely, that means making ALL of our meals, and mixing ALL of our own drinks. We provisioned carefully for this, even including supplies for sundowners that wouldn’t require ice if we ran out of the bags we’d picked up at the marina in Nassau. (Chilled prosecco with Chambord, if you’re wondering.) As it turned out, our provisioning was nearly perfect, since by the end of the week, we were happily fed and watered (no hot dogs for this crew, though Pop-Tarts turned out to be a popular breakfast choice) and left behind but a single can of Sands and a single package of salami. I had the sense to bring my own chef’s knife from home, but what would have been really handy was a can opener that worked (or a Leatherman).
The struggle to open a can of pate when the proper tools aren’t available. Note the professional use of a screwdriver.
Ice, should we have needed it, is sometimes available at our next stop, Warderick Wells, the headquarters of the Exuma Cays Land and Sea Park. It’s a shoestring operation, with fewer than a half-dozen people working here. More importantly, a number of touchstones must, indeed, be touched here. The anchorage is iconic and spectacular. The whale skeleton on the beach, and the baby whale skeleton in a glass case (assembled with the help of Skip and Harriet’s close friend, Mike, who had just died days before).
The assemblage of cruiser artifacts atop Boo Boo Hill, and the fruitless search for any we’d recognize — including our own — due to the harsh environment. And the gift shop, with the annual shirt/hat purchase.
Cherie, who mans the office with her stern demeanor, was there when Rick and I were cruising 5 years ago. Of course, I had no expectation that she would remember us. But when I reminded her that I was the woman who stubbornly preferred the Emerald Rock mooring field to the main one, I saw her lip quivering into a smile of faint recollection. Apparently, everyone but me is always jockeying for position in the main mooring field — not only is it the most recognizable sight of the Park, it’s protected in a blow, and is the hub for all social life for the dozens of people who visit on a daily basis.
While most visitors prefer the Warderick Wells main mooring field (left), I prefer the more distant Emerald Rock field (right, where our boat is the only one).
Aside from being less popular, one of the reasons I prefer Emerald Rock is because I like to spend lots of time in the water. The first time Rick and I moored in the main field and I jumped in for a swim, the current would have carried me to Andros (slight exaggeration) had I not grabbed the swim ladder. The current roars through here. That’s less of an issue at Emerald Rock. Here, we could swim with less effort and care. Also, we did most of our bathing off the swim platform of the boat. I generally prefer that to a smaller-than-phone-booth-sized shower down below; but also on this trip, our shower sump didn’t switch on (except maybe 1 out of 20 tries, and that for only a few moments), and I had no interest in standing in my own grey water.
By this time, I’m starting to feel well and truly crispy. No matter how much sunscreen you apply, the sun finds you. Even under the shade of the bimini, the sun bounces of the water to find you. I’m looooooong past the days of courting a suntan by slathering myself with baby oil, so a long sleeved shirt and hat became the attire of the day, even while swimming. Except I was enough of a doofus to insist on wearing my new ECLSP visor — which left my scalp, where my hair parts, unprotected for a few hours. Bad decision!
Me and Harriet swimming, with our long-sleeved shirts, hats, and matching (coincidentally) floats.
Having touched our required stones at Warderick Wells, our next stop would be Hawksbill Cay. Rick and I had only spent a single day here on our months-long cruise, and only explored the interior and the east shore, and Skip and Harriet never had. But my careful study of Google Earth confirmed that the sand flats at the north end of the cay would require intensive study — though even if we were to find sand dollars or shells, we’d need to leave them behind since the Park is a no-take zone.
Even though we’d paid in advance to moor at Hawksbill Cay, there were no moorings available, as the Park staff had taken them away for refurbishment. No matter, as the hard sandy bottom greedily took in our Delta anchor, and I was happy to have made the unplanned donation to the Park. I was more taken aback at the huge crewed charter yachts here, and their evidence of (Bravo network’s) Below Deck style of beach picnic, complete with umbrellas and racks of paddle toys on the shore, and jet-skis.
We escaped the Got Rocks scene by taking the dinghy to the northern tip of the island on an outgoing tide, and were the only ones there. At times, the sand was hard-packed, while in other spots we sank in ankle-deep.
Juvenile lemon sharks danced in the shallows.
Sun-warmed tide pools beckoned. Seabirds camouflaged themselves against the white sand.
No sand dollars to tempt me to break Park rules. In short, a small taste of heaven for me. When we returned to the anchorage, the Yacht People had cleared the beach, leaving only their professional crew to clean up after them, so we enjoyed the beach.
From Hawksbill Cay, we made our way north, saving my favorite stop for our last day: Shroud Cay. I have, and will always, dream about this spot when I dream of the Exumas. Always, our journey takes us through the shimmering mangrove creek to its outlet on the Exuma Sound. We planned our arrival there to coincide with an outgoing tide, and got there just as it was turning so that we could ride what I call the Flügen Flümen (language unknown). The current in the deep pool at the end of the creek carries you out to the sandbar just off the beach. On this day, there was quite a bit of wave action in opposition to the current; as well, the sandbar seems to have transited further east than it was before. So the flume ride took a bit more effort and we needed a little more rest in between runs, but it was totally worth it.
Getting ready for the flume ride at Shroud Cay.
Taking a ride!
(I will note that one of the megayachts’ crews had parked a large tender in the creek, and then ferried the guests to the Flügen Flümen beach by jetski — which is strictly forbidden by Park rules. Even though no one was there to enforce the rules, there was cosmic retribution — they had to leave the beach before the tide turned or else their watercraft would run out of water in the creek, and so they didn’t get to ride the flume. Sorry not sorry.)
Not cool.
As always, leaving the Exumas behind was hard, especially since we had to run the New Providence gauntlet before getting home. There was consolation in the easy trip back, with the wind at our backs. The satisfaction of being able to dock the boat for fueling and then into her slip with enough competence to get the base staff’s approval. The small pleasure of not having to make our own lunch and dinner that last day, and enjoying the last conch fritters and grouper fingers we’d eat for a while. Until we return!
Rick’s last cairn of this trip.
Calypso's Odyssey 