Bahama Mamas

It had the makings of every captain's dream voyage.....a super seaworthy vessel, calm Atlantic seas, light southerly winds, a two-knot Gulf Stream push, and a freezer full of Blue Bell ice cream! 

 

Plus, not one, but two willing and even eager female crew members.  Wow!  For the crossing from Florida to the Bahamas this winter, I enlisted the company of good friend Ann who currently lives in Orlando.  Ann and the captain were running buddies back in Houston in the 70's -- pre-Carol and way pre-Let's Dance.  So, with two to one odds, we readied for the 60 mile sea cruise.  Ann was given the safety lecture, taught how the heads and showers work, cautioned to hold the handrails while moving about the cabin and even shown the location of the ditch bag -- just in case! 

To ease Ann into the lifestyle, we motored for only an hour on Day One -- from our West Palm Beach marina to an anchorage off Peanut Island in the Lake Worth inlet.  Four years ago, on our very first ever trip aboard Let's Dance, Bill and Captain Bernie (our very patient training captain) were flashed by a boatload of almost bikini clad girls and I believe that Bill is still hoping that if he hangs around the area long enough, they will come back.  To date they have not, but hope remains.

The next day we scooted offshore down to Miami to anchor in our customary spot near South Beach.  We narrowly missed a too close encounter with a cruise ship while I was at the helm.  Bill was on the flybridge lowering our antennas so we could fit under a 35 foot bridge.  I swear it wasn't there just a second before!  When we had all calmed down we launched the Love Me Tender and took a short ride into shore for a wonderful lunch at Joe's Stone Crab. 

On Day Three of the saga we motored on down to a quiet anchorage in Biscayne Bay.  At least it was quiet when we arrived.  By dusk there were dozens of boats of all sizes, makes and conditions anchored or rafted up together and each one had their own tunes blaring.  Salsa, reggae and rap echoed off the shore and we felt like we were inside a floating juke box.  About 10 pm a police helicopter circled the bay, shining his searchlight over the revelers.  This seemed to serve as a visual "last call" for the boaters, as they soon disbanded and our peaceful anchorage was restored.

Finally, the weather gods give the sign and we are good to go -- Captain and the all-female crew are off to the Bahamas at last!  Nine and a half hours later we drop anchor off Great Isaac Rock.  We are 67 nautical miles from Florida, floating beside an uninhabited bit of rock that is littered by abandoned pink stucco cottages and a lighthouse that hasn't worked in 40 years.  Yes, Ann!  We're here!  Welcome to the Bahamas!

On Day Six of the now epic voyage, we landed at the Port Lucaya Marina, Freeport, Grand Bahama Island.  The Immigration Officer was on us in a flash, and we swore our only stores were food and water. (Best they don't know about the ice cream!)  The  marina is hoppin' big time.....a boat named Strip Center is tied up across the dock and our next door neighbor (a rather brassy broad from Baltimore) drops by to alert us to the evening's entertainment.  She sweet talks the local fishermen into parting with fish carcasses, ties them (the carcasses, not the fishermen) to a rope and lowers them into the marina waters next to her boat.  You guessed it!  Shark feeding frenzy.  Yuck!

 Anyway, we made good use of our one day in Freeport by visiting the Rand Nature Center to check out the local bird population.  Ann is an ace birder and spotted two new "lifers" for her resume....a Bahamas mockingbird and an Emerald hummingbird.  Good job!

  
 We followed our birding expedition with a quick stop at the Batelco storefront to re-up our Bahamas cell phone minutes and then found a beach front restaurant for a burger.  Bill spotted a pair of bronzed young ladies in neon spandex strutting their stuff nearby.....do you sense a theme developing here??  Ann and I had to remind him that we, too, are pretty hot mamas.  Hadn't that parrot at the nature center whistled enthusiastically as we walked by?  And hadn't that lonely male peacock in the cage spread his spectacular plumage and preened to curry our favor?  They had indeed!    So there!

Tomorrow one dream voyage comes to an end for Captain Bill, but another begins.  Ann and I, the newly christened Bahama Mamas, will fly from Freeport to Ft. Lauderdale, our  enlistment up aboard Let's Dance.  Captain Bill, however, will continue the quest alone,,,,with a super seaworthy vessel, calm seas, light winds and only slightly less ice cream.  Living the dream!

Let's Dance......Carol & Bill

We've Gone Country!

To wrap up the 2013 season, the captain and I took a decidedly different approach to our typical water-themed travel routine.  We left Let's Dance at a favorite boat yard in Thunderbolt, Georgia for a bit of paint and polish (not to mention the hopeful repair of that pesky bilge pump leak) and set our course south-southwest for Texas.  By car.

We were invited by my brother, David, and his wife Leslye, to join them and my mother for a few days at their ranch......a mere 3 hours south of Houston down Highway 59 towards Mexico and about a million miles from our sea-going lifestyle.  It was great!

The Lucas family, Leslye's ancestors, have been faithful stewards of this part of south Texas for generations, but it is only within the last five years or so that she and David have fashioned a spectacular "camp" here for themselves, their family and friends.  Through David's diligent efforts the ranch was added to the impressive National Register of Historic Places -- one of only three ranches in all of Texas to be so honored! So it was with great pleasure that Bill and I exchanged our Topsiders for virtual cowboy boots and tried on the ranching lifestyle.

The Camp at Fair Oaks Ranch has every amenity that the modern cowboy could want -- and then some! 

The house is super cool, but the toys are really worth writing home about.   David's idea of relaxation these days is to hop up into his John Deere tractor, crank up the radio and the A/C, engage the cutting blade and mow down wide swaths of mesquite trees and other underbrush.  He follows up this first broad brush step with a turn in his Bobcat (also air conditioned, of course) to pull the downed trees and vines away from the stately live oaks that surround the camp.  A final trim with a hand saw and a once obscured ancient oak is revealed.   Beautiful!

For an afternoon's diversion we took a ride on the Polaris.  It looked like a Texas-style Hatari adventure as David and my mom took the front seat, Leslye settled in the back seat and Bill and I literally rode shotgun from the elevated, open rear bench seat.  (Said shotgun never made it out of its quilted jacket and the separate box of bullets was never opened, but I felt quite like Annie Oakley nevertheless!)  We took off from the Camp in chilly and overcast weather for our safari.

  

We scared up some whitetail deer, a few coveys of quail and some turkeys, but the real surprise was a lonely, overgrown graveyard on the sandy banks of a creek.  Here rested  the remains of two cowboys -- buried in 1878 and each only in their early 20's.   Hmmm.   A property dispute?  Drunken brawl?  Perhaps a quarrel over a lover?  Rustled cattle?  We will never know, of course, but it's interesting to speculate on the tragedy that ended these young lives.

  

The next afternoon we had a short history lesson as we explored the rustic compound of clapboard buildings that earlier Lucas generations called home.  Richard M. was the first Lucas to arrive in Goliad County.  As an Officer of the Guard in England, he'd received a land grant in eastern Canada from Queen Victoria.  Apparently he found this area to be a bit chilly for his tastes, so he traded the grant, sight unseen, for one in south Texas.  Mistaking the Blanco Creek for the Blanco River, Richard settled his young family, including two year old Cyrus, in the current location in 1859.  What' s the big deal about a few hundred miles in Texas, after all?

Our field trip included exploration of Bo's house (grand-daughter-in-law of Richard M. and grandmother of Leslye) with its sagging porches and peeling white paint.  Bereft of the love and laughter of earlier times, you could still imagine the activity in the kitchen house and the clang of the dinner bell as it called the hands in for supper.

  

The small wooden building that Leslye's dad used as an office yielded more treasure.  There, a safe with no combination and who knows what wonders within, stood tilted amid piles of aged newspapers and yellowed ledgers.  We happened upon an unlocked, tin cash box filled with crinkled letters, too.  Most were written in the late 1890's and addressed to Cyrus B. Lucas -- far and away the most colorful of the clan and great grandfather to the current crew.   More than one unsolved family mystery came to light in these wonderful old letters that will no doubt lead to hours of friendly debate and possibly a little more genealogical digging.

As we left the fenced compound, we were greeted by some curious horses.....I made friends with one or two, but Lacy, the cute, but citified Westie, wasn't too sure of their intentions and chose to keep her distance.

We had a grand adventure, but all too soon it was time to pull off our virtual boots and Stetsons, toss our saddle bags into the Acura and head home.   This ad hoc bovine committee formed roadside to bid us safe travels! 

  

Thanks,  Leslye and David, for sharing the good life of the Camp at Fair Oaks Ranch!

All together now.....

The stars at night,

Are big and bright!

Deep in the heart of Texas!!

Let's Dance......Carol and Bill