A
while back, we left the bustle of Georgetown and set our course
northeast for Conception Island -- yet another remote, uninhabited
bit of real estate, 40 miles further out to sea, its natural wonders
protected by the Bahamas National Trust. Six small sailboats were in
the broad anchorage when we arrived, and a seventh came in around
dusk. The sailors stayed to themselves, but we were visited by a
moth of hummingbird proportions who may even now be nesting in the
pilothouse.
The
next morning brought another 360 water view from the deck of Let's
Dance with no sailboats in sight. They have left this amazing bay
all to us. Thanks, sailors! Time to survey the surroundings. The
10 feet of water below our keel is calm enough to see the wavy
outlines of the sandy bottom quite clearly. Behind us, just off the
swim platform, a slinky, loose parade of glass minnows marches back
and forth. Also called fry, or bay anchovy, they number in the
thousands and reflect the midmorning sun. Fun to watch!
Later
in the morning we launched the Love Me Tender. Before the day's
exploration, Bill revs up her 25 horses and goes forward and check
the snubber line. The snubber is a rope line that attaches to the
anchor links, acting as a shock absorber to relieve pressure on the
metal chain. We have noticed a little fraying at its juncture with
the hull and he wants a closer look. It's nothing that a strip of
well-placed duct tape cannot fix and I watch the repair from the bow
pulpit.
Suddenly
the glass minnows sprint around from the stern and start leaping into
the air in front of Bill. Their tiny bodies catch the sun as they
are chased in large, glassy sheets from the water by a gang of Blue
Runners -- the larger fish making flying, twisting lunges to fill
their tummies with the little anchovies. Flying fish are everywhere!
It's a wonderful sight and a great adventure for all but the hapless
small fry!
We
spent the first afternoon trying to explore the island. The charts
indicated a narrow channel into the interior mangrove swamps where
sea turtles allegedly feed and sleep. At the shallow entrance we
quickly bumped the rocky bottom and made the decision to back track
-- high tide or not, we were not going to be able to do this even
with our 12 inch dinghy draft. So, we found another landing site,
full of soft sand and only a slight undertow. We explored for
several hours, imagining ourselves castaways on this rock and sand
outcropping.
The
next morning, Bill decided to do a little bottom cleaning and donned
his marine maintenance gear -- wetsuit, hookah hose, buoyancy vest
and assorted scrub brushes and scrapers. I fed out the line as he
made his way forward along the hull from the swim platform.
Suddenly, about half way to the bow, he is eyeball to eyeball with a
six foot long, potentially malnourished reef shark! In a blur of
flippers and brushes Bill is back on the swim deck. Guess the
cleaning can wait.
Days
three and four consisted of free time in the mornings and afternoons
at leisure as the winds made leaving the shelter of our anchorage
inadvisable. Each night we watched the lights of distant cruise
ships pass to the south. They are bound for Grand Turk, St.
Maartens, Ocho Rios and Curacao. As clearly as we could see their
brightly lit decks in the night, the closest point of approach for
any was over six miles. They did not interfere with the solitude of
our Conception anchorage or the bright lights of the winter nights.
On
the morning of day five, Captain Bill announces that today is the day
that other boats will arrive to end our solitary idyll. The wind has
changed and the seas are calming. Sure enough, by 0900 we catch the
AIS of a pleasure craft named Kogo. We watch her approach on the
horizon and grow larger and larger until she stops within 1/4 of a
mile of us and drops her anchor. She is, according to AIS, our
limited intelligence source, 233 feet long with a beam of 39 feet and
a 14 foot draft. She also carries an armada of fishing skiffs and
assorted other watercraft, a full size sedan on her roof and enough
satellite dishes to monitor the space station. Wow!
By
the time the lunch dishes have been cleared, three sailboats have
also arrived in the bay. And then it starts to get weird. Just when
you believe that you have seen it all --- this craft slides silently
into the anchorage -- no identification, no visible electronics, no
windows. Hmmmmm.
Pirates?
Drug dealers? The head of a small Central American cartel? The
Rolling Stones? All of the above? We did discover, through
constant, blatant eavesdropping on the radio, that the mystery ship
and Kogo were traveling together. Body guards, perhaps? Later web
searching, when we back in computer range, revealed that Kogo is the
58th largest private ship in the world -- owned by a Formula One
racing team owner of Saudi/French ancestry. (Isn't it great what you
can glean from the Internet?)
With
abundant fine weather forecast, we left Conception to the spy boat et
al and headed west to Thompson Bay for a little reconnaissance before
the last push to the Raggeds. Now all that's left is to follow the
sun!
Let's
Dance.....Carol and Bill
