Anchoring in the wide harbor, we immediately encountered the “Rum Cay Roll”. It’s a heavy swell that wanders in from the south. It sets your boat to swayin’, like you see in those old Errol Flynn flicks. We countered it with a stern anchor. That put us directly into it which was better. Then the wind picked up from the east. That set us rollin’ again. After four dizzy days, we gave up and went into the marina. That's where we started hearing stories.
Nothing trumps land on an islet. It’s squabbled over incessantly. The courts in Nassau are backlogged into infinity over property disputes. Everyone has a claim, be it a Royal Deed from the English Crown or one due to centuries of possession. When these competing interests collide, tempers flare. A Bahamian attorney recently claimed this island in its entirety. He had gotten hold of an ancient deed from an elderly matron. She’d discovered it secreted behind a wall in her grandparents house. He never paid her, of course, but with a compliant American, he began selling lots. He cleverly bypassed the obvious title issues. If you purchased, he performed the closings which included the title search. When the naive new owners showed up with their architects, they discovered unsympathetic families that had homesteaded there for generations who also had deeds.
But that’s small potatoes. Center ring is the marina. A hard-working American (who grew up on the harbor) developed it single-handedly. He purchased the land (thankfully not from the lawyer), brought in heavy machinery and started digging. Five long years later it was ready.
It’s full service with a trendy restaurant. The clients are wealthy sports fisherman in elegantly-appointed yachts (and seasick "hoi polloi" in aging trawlers).
Shortly thereafter, the owner was approached by a local businessman who wanted to build a tiki bar on the marina’s beach. A deal was struck. Hands were shaken. Money was exchanged and nothing was specified in writing. Construction began, but instead of a tiki bar, another restaurant appeared fifty yards from the other one. The new one prospered; the other foundered.
It gets sketchy here, but at some juncture the successful place was suspiciously leveled by an earth mover. In retaliation, three armed thugs appeared on the island. The marina owner went into hiding. The hit men eventually left, but the bitterness remained.
A policeman, reportedly on the payroll of the disgruntled restaurateur, regularly shows up at the marina and hassles the guests. This we discovered first-hand. The marina owner is fatalistic about the whole affair. He knows it will never go away. I believe him. His opponent owns a sports fishing boat that’s docked just down the canal. The name on the stern is “Relentless”, carefully spelled out in capital letters. Every islander has an opinion as to who’s at fault. But none are too concerned. They’re too busy fighting among themselves, or with doe-eyed tourists with bogus deeds, over their own tiny parcels.
You can’t miss the sculpture that stands on the marina’s beach, right where the missing restaurant used to be. It’s a tall figurine welded from rebar. Every full moon the proprietor loads it with coconuts and brush, then sets it on fire.
I watched him prep it the other day. At dark we all walked over to the shoreline to view the impending inferno. The burning man had vanished. Somebody put down their beer and found a flashlight. There, amidst the gently lapping surf, it lay flat on its back. The owner speculated the wind knocked it over, then set it ablaze anyway.
great read j sounds like this island get every now and again josh
ReplyDeleteyou are great at pulling the story out of places, and people too.
ReplyDeleteJ,
ReplyDeleteMasterfully atmospheric. Per usual.
K