The Trip So Far Redeux

I don’t usually do “chronology”. I find them excruciating to read. But it occurred to me that maybe one of the three people who read this drivel might disagree. Keep in mind though that you’ve been warned.

Dominican Republic: After hiring local divers to scrape the marine growth off of our hull … twice (better them than us. If a droplet of contaminated harbor water happens to splash on you, it’ll turn whatever you’re wearing putrid brown.), then taking on 200 gallons of suspect fuel along with thirty 5-gallon jugs of suspect water, we stole out of Luperon Bay under the cover of darkness, thusly avoiding their nasty harbor fees. Chumming* due north through heavy seas for fourteen hours, we sighted Big Sand Cay and began a three-day stealth run through the Turks & Caicos Islands, avoiding their nasty cruising fees. (The authorities actually expect you to steer into one of their designated harbors, drop anchor, lower your dinghy, motor (or row, if the outboard won’t start) into the government dock, wait for the guy to return from a three hour lunch, wait some more while he talks to one of his girlfriends on his cell phone, pay him $100.00US for no apparent reason, return to your vessel, secure your dinghy, up anchor and continue on through to the Bahamas. Yeah, that‘s gonna happen.) This is the same archipelago that once held the most exquisite, unspoiled island I’d ever had the pleasure of visiting (Providenciales, estimated 1980 population, 500 cheerful inhabitants) which they succeeded in turning into a resort/slum of over 30,000 discontented souls.
*barfing 

Bahamas: Once we cleared the Turks, we chummed through almost-as-heavy seas for a mere ten hours and found refuge in Mayaguana, Bahamas, where we splurged on a $6 bag of potato chips. Subsequent anchorages were dropped opposite miles of unbroken white sand beaches in West Plano Cay, Acklins & Crooked Islands and Clarencetown, Long Island (the one without the Hamptons). We didn’t find Clarence, but met super-friendly Larry who had hailed us earlier on our approach into Mayaguana Harbor. He & Lovely Linda, his standard-friendly wife, had been plying the South Atlantic for forty-plus years on one of the nicest trawlers I’d ever set foot on. When you dinghied over, he’d spray your hands with fresh water before he’d allow you onboard, lest any salt got on his heavily varnished wood. 
After a super-friendly visit, we bade them farewell and trekked further north. All the computer models & forecasts showed light winds & calm seas that day. Not. We bucked, pitched & rolled our way into Rum Cay, where we didn‘t find any rum. (Perhaps Clarence drank it.) On the trip down this was my favorite island, mostly due to our having spent a solid week there partying. However, the Gods hate it when you have too much fun and don’t invite them, so they conjured up Hurricane Irene who paid them a visit a couple of years back. Their facilities have been closed since. 
Fortunately the owner collects heavy construction equipment which circle the grounds like covered wagons awaiting an Indian attack. He’s spent the last two years painstakingly re-dredging the marina channel and rebuilding the docks. With my offer of a case of beer,

generously donated by the captain while he was taking a nap, we managed to recreate the past revelry for one brief night. The dock lads went spearfishing and returned with an enormous yellowfin grouper. We frittered away the evening gorging on yfg, fish head stew, lion fish paella & green salad, all watched over by machines of loving grace.
That feast was especially memorable as the fishing’s been bad. We’ve been subsisting on barracuda (tasty but risky to eat) & canned spaghetti, the latter’s supply being seemingly inexhaustible, so much so that I suspect it’s found a way to replicate itself. Drinks are a different matter. As the alcohol supply dwindles, we’ve added “ballyhoo water” to our beverage list. It’s what happens when you throw bottles of H2O into the cooler and it mixes with our bait. The flavor is quite distinctive.
We’re now anchored off of one of the pristine beaches that surround Conception Island, a

voyeurs dream. It’s a marine sanctuary. Guidebooks claim you can snorkel amongst thirty pound snappers & ten pound lobsters. You can look but can’t touch, sorta like in a strip club. Hence I plan to stay onboard, at least for now. Super-friendly Larry’s here. We’ll likely visit them later with some of our precious few remaining beers in hopes of scrounging a decent meal. Perhaps they’ll have Ragu instead of Hunt’s. 
That’s the wonderful thing about plying the oceans on a budget. You never know what unexpected treasures may await you. Who knows, Parmesan cheese perhaps?

btw: If any of you can you spare a moment out of your busy, derisory life, would you kindly send me a comment, suggestion (No, I will NOT toss my computer into the deep, blue sea) or whatever? My social interaction has been a trifle Spartan lately. (The only bar around is made out of sand.) You can email moi at bongojere@gmail.com   Many thanks.