Shark Roulette

"A sailor’s joys are

as simple as a child’s."Bernard Moitessier

Leaving Green Turtle Cay nice and early, we headed north once more. Somewhere between Manjack and No Name Cay, Tony our fearless leader slipped on a springsuit, greased himself with baby oil to fortify against the 'icy' waters and proceeded to grab 7 lobsters. Yes, count them all, 7. Like a grateful junkie, I maniacally made repetitive cups of Earl Grey tea to warm up the skipper. I smugly smiled at the knowledge of the lobsters like scoring a Vegas jackpot.

On approach to a small harbor entrance, Tony steered so close to the limestone shore that we had to negotiate through overhanging trees. A skillful skipper indeed. We cruised over to the empty docks cradling only a couple of other boats.

"It'll fit with some vaseline" joked one of the guys on the dock as Tony proceeded to dock a 47 foot boat in a 47'1" space. Welcome to Spanish Cay, a beautiful remote privately owned island. As we stepped ashore to go check in at the office, I realized by the amount of fishing stickers this was definitely Mr. Billy's kinda place. Climbing the wooden stairs up to the veranda the whole place smacked of southern charm. Maybe it was the slider chairs or the rocking chairs or perhaps it had been the metal fishing chair ripped from some boat by lord knows what and casually propped at the end of the pier like a deckchair. The folks in the office welcomed us with real warmth and immediate friendship. Their easy manner was infectious and created an instant sense of belonging. Buying a couple of lemons and some more worm bait, we wandered back to the boat for sunset and dockside fishing.

To say Spanish Cay has clear water is to diminish the sparkling clarity of our anchorage. The sand bottom illuminated all the dark passing shapes of the fish below. With great excitement Josh spotted something a little larger than the grey nurse we had encountered before.

"At night the sharks come in close to the beach, hunting in the edge of the Stream…the sharks had no fear and everything else feared them. But in the day they stayed out away from the clear white and sand and if they did come in you could see their shadows a long way away." Ernest Hemmingway.

We had to assume they were Caribbean reef sharks, or with a small gulp, bull sharks. Historically a fishermans' haven, Spanish Cay has established an afternoon ritual of gutting, filleting and tossing the remanants of wahoo, dorado and other big game fish into the harbor. Needless to say the sharks have caught on and appear daily about 3pm. I saw the glint in Mr. Billy's eye and his mention of a game of shark roulette this evening piqued my interest. This was just the kind of excitement my iodine fueled lobster mania needed.

Once the dinner dishes were done and the kids fast asleep, it was time to rig, bait, then sit and wait. At first nothing but by the second round of vodka cocktails we had lost a couple of lumps of mackerel off the hook. As Anne was casually holding the rod she screamed "I've been hit!" Sure enough the rod was bending over and the line screaming out as something large tried to run but soon the razor sharp teeth had severed the line. Not to be outwitted by a big fish, Mr. Billy got serious with a steel leader and blood knot. The sounds of fish splashing in the dark left me with widened eyes and adrenaline coursing my veins.

"The real terror of beholding sharks feeding is that that may be all there is to life. A razor-toothed paragon of the will to life. A frenzied churning of flesh into flesh of another kind." Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Now it was my turn to spin the rod of shark fortune. I have to admit even for my impatient temperament I felt a twinge on the line pretty quickly. The line began to whirr and instantly I knew this was a big one, the rod bent and I screamed "I've been hit, I've been hit hard". I bottled out as soon as I could hand off the rod to Mr. Billy, who, shaking with laughter started to reel the bad boy in. I switched position with the flashlight, with my eyes popping and illuminated a 5 foot bull shark thrashing powerfully next to the boat. With an almighty lurch it smashed its tail against the fibre glass hull and broke the line, sliding off silently into the shadows. Whooping and shouting we stomped around on the deck for a while (I was secretly glad that the tail had wacked the starboard side of the boat and not the port where the kids soundly slept on.) It would be hard to explain that momma was just drinking vodka and toying with bull sharks.

Enough excitement for one night, I was in far too much awe about great whites to casually brush off the encounter and went to bed hearing the Jaws music.

“Carcharadon carcharias. Six thousand pounds of muscle powering a hoop

of butcher's knives. The only animal that ate its weaker siblings in the womb.

Immune from cancer. Constantly awake.” Mark Haddon

I casually asked the kids the following day if they had heard anything, while we home schooled. The kids felt completely ripped off that they had missed the whole event. Anne and Billy went for a run around the Island with the local dog, Hurricane, and found a remote airstrip complete with customs officer. There was something about the way Anne described the beauty of the birdsong and the way Mr. Billy looked longingly at the photos of wahoo strung up by a proud fisherman made me think that they may be heading back this way at a later date!

We had spent the last four nights in marinas so I requested that Tony take us to a remote spot to anchor that evening. I had also developed a secret desire to catch more shark and thought we stood more chance out on the open water. Alongside a beach opposite Pelican Cay we anchored so close to shore we were able to step off the boat, wade through shallow water and wander ashore to collect the incredible shells.

Meandering around the sandy headland, I looked out to the channel and was rewarded with a glimpse of a quintessential desert island. The perfect size equipped with just the right amount of palm trees and the obligatory white sand beaches. A solitary house stood back from the one boat jetty and made me wonder who lived there. Then I got to pondering about how on the outside looking in this island represented a pinnacle in human desire, your own island in paradise. How many of the planet's population would aspire to acquire this ultimate in status symbol. I chuckled to myself as I realized that the owner probably spent an inordinate amount of time worrying if the shingles would survive another hurricane season and lamenting the price of fresh water. The grass is always greener I suppose or would that be the sand is always whiter?

The solitary time also gave me time to reflect on friends I would gladly share this paradise with. Its funny how people pop into your head for different reasons and how you miss someones laughter or countenance or simply their presence in your day. I count my blessings in wonderful friendships. They are much more rewarding than desert islands.

The light was beginning to fade, this was no time to lament, I had fish to hunt, back to the boat at once! I was not disappointed in shark roulette, the sequel. This time it was a 3ft Caribbean reef shark who took the bait. After the earbashing I'd had from the kids there was no way I was going to let it get away without a photo to show them in the morning.

Other fish run from bigger things. That's their instinct.

But this fish doesn't run from anything. He doesn't fear.”

Peter Benchley Jaws

The next morning over breakfast I fessed up to Mama's new fishing addiction and we had a really interesting discussion about the food chain which led to another discussion about piranhas that were released into a pond in a public park in Santa Barbara. There endeth the lesson for that day. With all logic gone, school was out. It was time to move on to Treasure Cay.

Seventeen Spanish Galleons sank of the coast of Treasure Cay in 1595, some have been found others still lie undiscovered sunken treasure. Settled by loyalists in the late 1700's, the island voted one of the best in the Caribbean, is actually not an island at all but joined to the mainland of Great Abaco.

Maneuvering through the dredged canals, we docked at a beautiful marina and walked ashore to explore.

A couple of dock workers advised us to go buy sticky buns from the bakery. Munching and walking, we arrived at the most beautiful white sand beach you can imagine. Powder white sand is so cliche but it really was like confectioner's sugar. The water an aqua marine that was so clear and alluring we just dropped our gear and went right in. Sweeping into a wide bay either side of us the water and sand set a surreal vista around us. To spend an afternoon building sandcastles is to know everything you need to know about construction.

It was time to watch a golden sunset from the restaurant and spend a night surrounded by big boats in this upscale resort.

The following morning brought sadness with the dawn. This was our last full day aboard, tonight it was one last anchorage in Hope Town harbor back where it all began on Elbow Cay.

In the afternoon we had just time for a last minute sightseeing tour of Man o War Cay. Famous for boatbuilding, there are still some examples of the Abaco dinghy, wonderful old world wooden gems. Wandering around the tiny streets I felt more than a little melancholy. Watching friends waiting patiently on a bench brought home the precious nature of time.

"A friend is one to whom one may pour out all the contents of one’s heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that the gentlest of hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away."Unknown

The island has a few gift stores which of course we had to check out. One icecream and a couple of souvenirs later and it was time to head back to SeaSong and Tony, patiently waiting.

On reflection there had, of course, been times when I had wanted to fire up the cannon. In the main part, these memories we had all just created and participated in would become as cherished as the friendships that made it all happen. Life on a boat seems to be a great leveler, there is no place to go, no hiding place for your soul however big the vessel.

"It's out there at sea that you are really yourself." Vito Dumas

One more dinner back at Captain Jack's was a wonderful way to end our Bahamian bonanza. The dawn of our last day aboard gave time for a little introspection as we made the short passage back to Marsh Harbor. Packing up and leaving our home for the past fortnight left a sadness over us all. It also made me realize what little we had really needed or used while onboard.

"At sea, I learned how little a person needs, not how much."

Robin Lee Graham

Waiting for the airport taxi in the marina bar brought out a few reflections. We had discovered that as a family we could exist and learn together onboard a boat. As Mr. Billy wisely said "we learnt that you guys can live on a boat and I can live on a bigger boat". I know we were all looking forward to showering with excessive amounts of water in stalls so big you could swing the soap!

Tony, I thought, was morosely, cheerful as his tour concluded. I had a feeling his last words were well practiced, but were truly very apt. He told a joke about how a Bahamian boy went to St. Paul's Cathedral in London and noticed a golden telephone. Upon questioning the Bishop he was told it was a direct line to heaven but would cost him 10,000 pounds to call. Then the boy went to the Vatican in Rome and seeing another golden phone, asked the Pope what it was. "Why its the direct line to heaven and costs 10,000 euros to use". Unable to afford either the boy returned home to the Bahamas and went into the local church in Marsh Harbor. Noticing a golden phone there also, he asked the vicar why the sign said it cost only 25 cents? The vicar replied "Why your already in heaven boy, its just a local call."