Point of No Return

The Bahamas are gone. Mayaguana, the easternmost island, lies in our wake. Four months have evaporated since we crossed the Gulf Stream. In it, I’ve learned about possession. Not the kind where you get something. But the kind that gets you.

Each island has its own character. Step ashore and you’re immediately put in its grasp. Nothing is certain. Maybe there are supplies. Maybe not. The store could be open or the owner might be off-island leaving the locals to fend for themselves. It’s easy to get used to unless you’re demanding, in which case you should stay home. Our vessel, an island unto itself (with the unique ability to suddenly sink), is the most possessive of all. We operate it, but it calls the shots.
Experiencing these separate little worlds is wondrous. I can think of no better reason to travel. Bimini is a delight. It is no further from the bustle of Miami than a typical morning commute. Its clear water, fertile fishing and excellent diving is unsurpassed. The settlement of sleepy Alice Town has great food, cold beer and warm hospitality. Even Nassau is enjoyable, provided you stayed near the marinas. Anything you need is close by. There’s free internet and the food stalls at Potter’s Key are a ten minute walk. There you will find fresh fish and lobster being sold right off of the boats, plus the best conch salad you ever stuck a plastic fork into. The Exumas are especially beautiful and even thriving Georgetown has Stocking Island, one of the prettiest islands I have ever spent time on. And Fish Fry Beach is hard to beat for fresh local fare.
The people everywhere were great. I never once had a problem or encountered an unkind word. The Salt Pond locals, the “Bahamian Hillbillies”, were especially affable. They knew the perils of living off of the sea and lent an experienced helping hand to us more than once.
The Out Islands were what I had come for and they didn’t disappoint. Rum Cay’s politics were easily ignored. We spent our days spear fishing on the reef and our nights drinking in the bar. If it swam, we saw it; sharks, barracudas, porpoise, dolphins, tunas, marlins, sailfishs, rays, groupers, snappers, jacks and a plethora of dazzling reef fish. I proved conclusively that if you give a middle-aged guy a pole spear and turn him loose on the reef, you will never need to worry about over-fishing. I couldn’t nail a 12-foot Hammerhead shark if you stuck him inside of a beer cooler. Over-fishing was a problem though. The locals did plenty of it, but blamed the boats from Spanish Wells. They in turn blamed the Dominican‘s, who blamed the Cubans. That’s island politics which are always fervently discussed at the numerous watering holes and just as easily forgotten. The warmth and hospitality of these islands is what lingers in my mind. 
The Turks and Caicos Isles are now appearing over our bow. They are quite beautiful and also more developed. The resorts will be plentiful and the restaurants nicer, but not the people. The well-healed vacationers will be guarded. The locals suspicious. There will be a ghetto where those who service the tourists reside, so there will also be crime. 
We will wait out the weather there, then make a long deep crossing over to the Dominican Republic. After that ,it’s Puerto Rico, then St. Thomas. I expect I’ll be writing about the quirks I encounter in these separate island nations, although I may give Puerto Rico a break. No point in beating a dead horse. But the rest will be fair game and I can’t wait.