Crooked Island, Bahamas

Wind: E-SE 10-15 knots

I’m sitting this afternoon, watching the surf roll in, listening to the sound of birds and crickets, watching the waving branches of casuarina. The water is a murky blue-green from all the wind we’ve been having, the sand stirred up from the bottom, stretching out to a deeper azure where it deepens, and a dark purple where it drops into the thousand-fathom range. All day long we’ve been watching a succession of freighters drift silently along the horizon, huge ships that loom tall even many miles away. The sound of the surf is relentless and comforting, as is the wind, whistling around the eaves. I miss Secret, but I’m happy that she’s somewhere safe and sound, not having all this stress put on her anchor lines and cleats and rigging.

The big news is that we bought our tickets home. They were much more expensive than I had hoped--I had neglected to account for the ubiquitous taxes and fees that airlines are so fond of tacking on these days. It’s been a while since I’ve flown internationally, and I had forgotten about all the foreign departure taxes, too. So I may have been a little optimistic when I listed the cost to get down here for a visit. It cost us $170 one-way for a flight from Nassau to Boston, plus the $120 from Crooked to Nassau. That’s a pretty penny. Good thing we still have eggs.

We still have a week and a half before we fly out and nothing to do in that time. Nappy’s supposed to fly back in tomorrow, and if he does we’ll have reliable tranz and adventures again, but I’m not convinced at all he’ll actually be on the flight. I probably wouldn’t be either, if I had a wife and son in Nassau who missed me. Karl’s contemplating an eight-mile row down to check on Secret, which would be a fun adventure for him but a little worrisome for me. He thinks he could do it in a day, spend a night there, and come back. I’m sure he could, but rowing eight miles in open ocean just doesn’t sound safe. I’ve debated going with him, but we’re not sure it’s worth the extra weight in the dinghy to have an extra pair of rowing arms.

We visited Lin and Jim earlier this afternoon, too, who were gracious and kind as always. I returned Fritz’s books, and we talked about boats and circumnavigations and the weather. There’s not much else to do out here, other than read and talk and visit, and I finally do feel like we’ve slowed down to Crooked Island time, that we’re finally getting our vacation and have let our worry drift away. I’m trying to get my fill of the sea, of its dark line tautly stretched across the horizon, of its heave and pounding noise, but I don’t know that I ever will.