Bareboating in the Bahamas

text and photos by liisa berg

A capricious little plaque on the wall of a Marsh Harbour Marina hangout reads: “There is nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth doing than simply messing about in boats. Nothing really seems to matter. That’s the charm of it. Whether you get away or whether you don’t; whether you arrive at your destination or somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, it doesn’t matter; you’re always busy and never doing anything in particular.”

This quote from the English author Kenneth Grahame‘s novel aptly summarized our wishes for a family vacation where everyone would have something to do but nothing to accomplish. For years we had been frustrated sailors, landlocked on a vast continent, longing to hitch a ride on the fresh ocean winds. With some prompting from family and friends, we decided to try our hand at bareboating in the Bahamas. Our family motto soon became: “Bahamas or Bust!” and plans started to take place.

A search for an island paradise among the Bahama Islands seemed easy enough—any little isle would do. But considering that there are 2,700 islands, cays and rocks in this archipelago, scattered over 100,000 square miles in the Atlantic Ocean, the task becomes quite formidable, and it’s better to seek advice. On the recommendation of other experienced sailors, we chose to sail the Northern Abacos, bypassing all the obvious tourist places like Nassau.

The Abacos, according to seasoned island explorers, win hands down over the Exumas, the Berry Island, New Province, and the Biminis, for variety and interest ashore, excellent harbors, hospitable settlements, perfect breezes and relatively easy sailing. The crystal clear waters are protected by a string of cays and barrier reefs extending from Little Harbour at the southern tip of Great Abaco, to Walker’s Cay further north. They break the big waters that come all the way from Africa, and provide protection for cruising on the Little Bahama Bank on the inside of the cays.

Circling the earth in space, astronaut John Glenn reported having seen these brilliant Bahamian waters. We got an inkling of his vision as we arrived at Marsh Harbour by plane from Ft. Lauderdale. Stunning shades of green, blue and turquoise rimmed the visible cays, attesting to the fact that the Bahamas have no rivers and few storms to churn up the shallow bottom.

We had chartered a bare boat from a private owner. Getting a bare boat meant that we were our own skipper and crew. We also had to provision the boat ourselves. Happily, Marsh Harbour is well appointed, with store, super markets and boutiques dotting the few island roads, and our shopping turned out to be a delightful introduction to our stay in paradise. Lacking no provisions, and complete with floppy straw and cotton hats, dark sunglasses, snorkeling gear and plenty of sun block, we were ready for our island adventure.

During the following two weeks we learned what relaxing and enjoying life really meant. We established a home base in Baker’s Bay, a protected little indentation on the inner shore of the Great Guana Cay. From there we took short trips in our dinghy to go snorkeling and beach-combing on the ocean side, or swimming and making footprints on the white, gleaming beach close to our lone anchorage. Picnicking on the beach at dusk, building sand castles, watching crabs come out of their sandy tunnels, picking up starfish and turning them upside down to see how they eat with their funny, little mouths, floating on the transparent turquoise water, soaking in the burning rays of the sun, or just lazing around, doing absolutely nothing, were the great joys of our stay in the Bahamas—sprinkled with an occasional adventure to keep it all interesting.

According to the famed mariner Jacques Cousteau, some of the best snorkeling in North America is found near Sandy Cay, where we also found our way. While some of us enjoyed an incredible array of underwater colors and life, others stayed on the beach to scrounge around for mementos, such as starfish, conch shells, sea urchins, coral and driftwood.

When the sailing bug bit, it was easy enough to pack up, stow things down below, raise the anchor and set sail for new adventures. We charted our course to Treasure Cay, the most popular spot in the Abacos, with dazzling white beaches and modern accommodations. Carefully negotiating the difficult channel, we found ourselves in a bight, crammed with sailing vessels of all description, and were instantly convinced that our little secluded Baker’s Bay anchorage was more to our liking.

Hope Town, Tilloo Pond and Little Harbour were explored next. Little Harbour, a delightful little hamlet, is mainly known for its famous resident, Randolph Johnson, a world-renowned sculptor. Hope Town has a whimsical candy-striped lighthouse visible from all points, and the diminutive street scene is chock full of color and local ambiance.

Arrival at Tilloo Pond, our next port of call, was not quite as pleasant: the channel was treacherously narrow and shallow, and the water hard to read. Being unfamiliar with the nuances of the passage, we went astray by an inch (it seemed) and ran aground—at the peak of high tide. Now that’s the worst time to bottom out. At least at low water, the tide will eventually come and lift the boat afloat. Not so here. Feverish rescue efforts commenced. We released the mainsail and tied the halyard to the secondary anchor which then was lodged onto some rocks on the shore. Then slowly wenching, and keeping a keen eye on the mast as it bent and creaked under the pressure, we were able to tilt the boat until the keel was released from the grip of the sandy bottom, and we glided safely into deeper waters.

We found our island paradise just as we had envisioned it to be: full of sunshine, warm breezes, puffy white sails and spinnakers, crystal waters, gorgeous sunsets . . . plenty to do but nothing to accomplish.

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