I awoke with a strange feeling. My head felt fuzzy, and my body hurt. I looked through the smoky air inside the car to try to figure out what was going on. The airbags had deployed, but were now laying limp, with smoke slowly drifting from their holes. I looked all around. Sandra was in the driver's seat, looking just as confused as I was. I found part of my Oakley sunglasses on the dashboard and picked it up. I looked strangely at it, then tossed it aside, realizing I had more pressing issues to deal with. I didn't have a seat belt on. I always wear a seat belt. I never let a car move when I don't have a seat belt on. I knew something was strange. Turning around I expected to see Kathy and Tawfer in the back seats. To my surprise, they were not there. Even though my head hurt and I knew I wasn't thinking clearly on the verge of shock and panic, I knew they were supposed to be in the car. The last thing I remember was sitting in the front seat of the car with Sandra waiting for Tawfer and Kathy to catch up with us and get into the car. There was no reason they wouldn't be in the car. No windows were broken, but the windshield was badly dented from where my head hit the window. I looked at my cell phone. It was 2:45 am, and at 2:04 am I had a text message from Tawfer - "Where the f are you?" Why I looked at my phone at this time, I have no idea.
I fought panic and shock and tried to keep a rational mind, but they started to get the best of me and all I wanted to do was get out of the car. The metal on my door was mangled and wouldn't open. I tried the window, it was jammed too. Looking to my left, I saw that the driver's door was open. I told Sandra to climb out of the car, and I climbed over the center console and out of the driver's door of the car, falling on to the road. I crawled over to the sidewalk and sat down. I wanted to assess the situation, make decisions and start to clean up. I tried to muster everything I had, but my brain and body simply weren't working right.
The flashing lights appeared from down the road, and approached us with great speed. I found out later that we had crashed a block from the police station. Lucky us. The next thing I remember was being man handled by a group of police men and firemen as they strapped me into a backboard. They lifted me up, and into the ambulance I went. I kept trying to help my rescuers, I have never been on this side of an accident. The ambulance attendant tried to give me an IV, and after three tries he finally got it in.
I was driven to the hospital and put in the trauma unit. Nurses and doctors scurried around me, sticking needles in me, re-running IVs on both my arms and moving me around. They cut my shirt off, it was one of my favorites. A large male pulled my pants and boxers down as I was strapped to the backboard and surrounded by people. I exclaimed how things were getting exciting, but he asked me why my pants were all wet. I had to confess I was at a pool party all day. A police officer came in and introduced himself as Officer Weed. I told him he had an ironic name for a police officer. He wasn't amused.
Once I was stabilized, the doctor asked me if I wanted my girlfriend to come in to visit. I don't have a girlfriend, but I guess when your alone in a car with a cute Peruvian at 2am, they assume you're dating. When she came in, we tried to figure our what had happened. I asked her why we didn't have Tawfer and Kathy in the car, and why we were almost to her house, rather than Kathy's house like we planned. All she remembers is being in the front seat of the car talking to me while we were waiting for Tawfer and Kathy. Great. So we both don't remember why we were driving, why we left half our group, or why we were heading towards the wrong house.
A full body X-ray, full body CT scan, MRI, two bags of saline and some morphine later, they found out that I had a stressed ligament in my C4 vertebrae. In the accident my head had hit the windshield and took most of the force of my body because I didn't have a seat belt on. We could only come up with one possible scenario as to what happened between the parking lot and the telephone pole. We were talking in the car without seat belts on, waiting for Tawfer and Kathy. We both fell asleep. I remained asleep while Sandra "sleep drove" us towards her house, until she made a sleep driving mistake (whatever that is) and hit a pole.
I have a neck brace that I have to wear for 10 days, then I have to go see a neurologist. Our plan was to sail to Martha's Vinyard on Wednesday on an 80 foot racing yacht, Kialoa V, which was the fastest boat in the world in the early 90s. Obviously, I can't sail with my condition.
After getting on a decrepit boat with a crazy captain, braving the Bermuda triangle through gale force winds and thunder squalls, being stranded in Bermuda, climbing sharp volcanic ocean rocks and diving from the top and sailing over to long island, it is kind of ironic that the place I get hurt is in a car accident 2 hours from home. Even further back, the plan was to sail to Europe this summer. But really, I flew away from home, then sailed back. Kind of funny the way life works. Regardless, I wanted an experience and an experience was what I got. Unfortunately, my part of this adventure will be ending in a few days after I go back to Greenport, Long Island to collect my belongings and go home. Tawfer isn't sure what he is going to do, but you can keep checking here to find out if he plans on continuing this adventure.
I want to say to everyone thanks so much for following us and the comments. It was really fun telling you the stories and sharing the pictures, and I hope you enjoyed them. There are prospects of another attempt to cross the Atlantic by sailboat in May of 2010. If it happens, we will be sure to continue this site and blog then. We'll let you know.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
The trip from Bermuda to Long Island was long and difficult. The weather was terrible and the seas were miserable. The video below is a good example of how awful and difficult the passage really was. If sailing is always this hard, I'll never do it again.
:P
The Difficulties of Sailing from Topher Wright on Vimeo.
:P
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Seasickness
The day before heading out on Sea Tryst, I began to feel an ever-so-slight itch in the back of my throat. An ominous itch. An itch that would later turn into an infection. Great.
The next morning as we set to leave for New York, I woke up with a sore throat for the record books; I must have swallowed a porcupine. Not without a full body wince could I swallow, and eating was near impossible sans morphine. Great.
We motored through the channel towards the ocean and as I stood on the bow I began to feel queasy.
"We haven't even hit the seas yet!" I thought as I cursed bacteria's name verbally. On Sly Dog, I felt an uneasy stomach at the worst; sailors might say that I was 'stomach aware.' However, in completely calm seas, on Sea Tryst, I could feel seasickness coming on.
If you are about to eat a meal, or have just eaten, you may want to skip the next few paragraphs.
I was swallowing lots of mucus from the sore throat and as the pressure built in my sinuses, the problems evolved in my stomach. What might be described as an upset stomach turned into what might be described as a 'very aware' stomach. So aware, in fact, that it decided I should throw up - with gusto. The dry heaves kicked in for awhile afterwards. While I convulsed I enjoyed an up close view of the ocean, my eyes watering into the sea.
Being seasick is truly an awful feeling. On deck, it is tolerable as a severe stomach ache; there is very much difficulty motivating oneself to move, and falling asleep is out of the question.
Below deck, the stomach ache is joined, with enthusiasm, by a chorus of vertigo, muscle weakness, headache, and a general unwillingness to survive the day. I could not concentrate on anything and morale was at a lifetime low - being trapped on a surface, ever moving, that your body cannot stand, with no hope of reaching land for at least 4 days.
As I sat below, unable to fully comprehend my own misery, my shipmates were dashing about the deck, keeping the boat in motion.
"No I want to help, really! I do!" I wanted to scream, but my throat hurt too much and my brain was no longer connected to my vagus nerve. I wanted Mike to know that on the other boat I was useful. I helped to sail and told jokes and watched the sky. Now I just watched the ground in front of me, searching for the fast forward button.
Next, I was standing in a long stretching hallway with plain walls, and people I knew loitering about. I motioned to walk and greet them but my legs felt like rubber and I collapsed to the ground. My head spun, my joints creaked, and the bright hallway faded into a gray swirling mass of unidentifiable objects.
Then I woke up. I don't often remember my dreams, but this one struck me ironic enough to remember. My head was still spinning and my legs did feel like rubber. It is difficult enough to move about a sailboat when you are not sick.
"What type of cursed boat is this where the symptoms of sickness seep into my dreams.." I mumbled to a passing sailor. I think that I was actually going insane. I sat up, and, just as I was convincing myself that I was feeling better, the door to the head swung open, I caught a whiff of that "bathroom" smell, and I ran up on deck to throw up again.
After sharing the rest of my lunch with the sea, I lay back down, and, exausted, I quietly wished for death.
The next morning as we set to leave for New York, I woke up with a sore throat for the record books; I must have swallowed a porcupine. Not without a full body wince could I swallow, and eating was near impossible sans morphine. Great.
We motored through the channel towards the ocean and as I stood on the bow I began to feel queasy.
"We haven't even hit the seas yet!" I thought as I cursed bacteria's name verbally. On Sly Dog, I felt an uneasy stomach at the worst; sailors might say that I was 'stomach aware.' However, in completely calm seas, on Sea Tryst, I could feel seasickness coming on.
If you are about to eat a meal, or have just eaten, you may want to skip the next few paragraphs.
I was swallowing lots of mucus from the sore throat and as the pressure built in my sinuses, the problems evolved in my stomach. What might be described as an upset stomach turned into what might be described as a 'very aware' stomach. So aware, in fact, that it decided I should throw up - with gusto. The dry heaves kicked in for awhile afterwards. While I convulsed I enjoyed an up close view of the ocean, my eyes watering into the sea.
Being seasick is truly an awful feeling. On deck, it is tolerable as a severe stomach ache; there is very much difficulty motivating oneself to move, and falling asleep is out of the question.
Below deck, the stomach ache is joined, with enthusiasm, by a chorus of vertigo, muscle weakness, headache, and a general unwillingness to survive the day. I could not concentrate on anything and morale was at a lifetime low - being trapped on a surface, ever moving, that your body cannot stand, with no hope of reaching land for at least 4 days.
As I sat below, unable to fully comprehend my own misery, my shipmates were dashing about the deck, keeping the boat in motion.
"No I want to help, really! I do!" I wanted to scream, but my throat hurt too much and my brain was no longer connected to my vagus nerve. I wanted Mike to know that on the other boat I was useful. I helped to sail and told jokes and watched the sky. Now I just watched the ground in front of me, searching for the fast forward button.
Next, I was standing in a long stretching hallway with plain walls, and people I knew loitering about. I motioned to walk and greet them but my legs felt like rubber and I collapsed to the ground. My head spun, my joints creaked, and the bright hallway faded into a gray swirling mass of unidentifiable objects.
Then I woke up. I don't often remember my dreams, but this one struck me ironic enough to remember. My head was still spinning and my legs did feel like rubber. It is difficult enough to move about a sailboat when you are not sick.
"What type of cursed boat is this where the symptoms of sickness seep into my dreams.." I mumbled to a passing sailor. I think that I was actually going insane. I sat up, and, just as I was convincing myself that I was feeling better, the door to the head swung open, I caught a whiff of that "bathroom" smell, and I ran up on deck to throw up again.
After sharing the rest of my lunch with the sea, I lay back down, and, exausted, I quietly wished for death.
Fun Shots
I am really happy with the pictures I got on the sail over to Greenport, Long Island. Ever since getting on a boat I've had a shot in my head, and I was unable to get it on the last boat we were on. However, I had the opportunity on this trip to get it, and I'm really happy with how it turned out. Check it out:
Next up - on our last night before landfall I got the opportunity to climb the mizzen mast (the rear, smal
ler mast on a ketch rig) during sunset. Being 40 feet above the water and traveling 7 knots is one of the most exhilarating things I have ever done. As I reached the top of the mast, I couldn't help but let out a huge scream. It felt kind of corny, but every cell in my diaphragm was itching to let it out. Soon, the difficulty of being in such a place set in. Every small movement in the boat translates to a large sway up there. Even in good weather you have to hold on for dear life except I was holding on for dear life with one hand, and holding onto my camera with the other as the boat bucked back and forth and I got pounded into the mast. My left arm was responsible for controlling my upper body, and each of my big toes was wrapping around a cable in the rigging for lower stability. My right arm was responsible for taking pictures, the safety of my camera and tying safety ropes in case soemthing broke. Mike got a cool shot of Tawfer and I from the bottom of the mast with Tawfer's camera.
While holding on for dear life, I managed to snap a few good shots. One of them is below, but check out my Flickr page for larger versions and the rest of them. As always, comments and criticism are always appreciated.
Next up - on our last night before landfall I got the opportunity to climb the mizzen mast (the rear, smal
ler mast on a ketch rig) during sunset. Being 40 feet above the water and traveling 7 knots is one of the most exhilarating things I have ever done. As I reached the top of the mast, I couldn't help but let out a huge scream. It felt kind of corny, but every cell in my diaphragm was itching to let it out. Soon, the difficulty of being in such a place set in. Every small movement in the boat translates to a large sway up there. Even in good weather you have to hold on for dear life except I was holding on for dear life with one hand, and holding onto my camera with the other as the boat bucked back and forth and I got pounded into the mast. My left arm was responsible for controlling my upper body, and each of my big toes was wrapping around a cable in the rigging for lower stability. My right arm was responsible for taking pictures, the safety of my camera and tying safety ropes in case soemthing broke. Mike got a cool shot of Tawfer and I from the bottom of the mast with Tawfer's camera.While holding on for dear life, I managed to snap a few good shots. One of them is below, but check out my Flickr page for larger versions and the rest of them. As always, comments and criticism are always appreciated.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Excited
We walked onto Sea Tryst for the first time.
Canaan, Xanadu, and the Playboy Mansion; like Abraham, Kubla Khan, and a pubescent teen, our eyes were opened and our worldly desires fulfilled.
"This is what a sailboat should look like!"
The cabin was dry, organized, and odor free. The head (bathroom) actually functions, and it looks as if the sink works as well. This is awesome.
We were not aware that it was possible to be comfortable on a sailboat. Also, this one doesn't have ripped sails and a broken engine.
"Is that a guitar?" Mike plays guitar.
A working bathroom, some food, a dry place to sleep, and a guitar, what else could I possibly ask for?
"I'm in" I said with resolution, then I wrote a haiku:
The ocean is calling me
Land is so boring
It's better when the floor moves
Well, the boat is nice but my poetry needs some work.
Canaan, Xanadu, and the Playboy Mansion; like Abraham, Kubla Khan, and a pubescent teen, our eyes were opened and our worldly desires fulfilled.
"This is what a sailboat should look like!"
The cabin was dry, organized, and odor free. The head (bathroom) actually functions, and it looks as if the sink works as well. This is awesome.
We were not aware that it was possible to be comfortable on a sailboat. Also, this one doesn't have ripped sails and a broken engine.
"Is that a guitar?" Mike plays guitar.
A working bathroom, some food, a dry place to sleep, and a guitar, what else could I possibly ask for?
"I'm in" I said with resolution, then I wrote a haiku:
The ocean is calling me
Land is so boring
It's better when the floor moves
Well, the boat is nice but my poetry needs some work.
Boring Technical Stuff
We are setting sail for New York City early tomorrow morning on a 42 foot ketch rig named Sea Tryst. The sail should take about five to 6 days, and the weather looks like 10-15 knot south-westerlies the whole way. I wasn't able to get the map at the top of the page to link up with the Where Are We map, so now the Where Are We map is located on a link on the right hand side of the page. I'll try to give a position check at least once a day, so have fun following our progress!
Alex
Alex
Thoughts on Sailing
Sailing is unlike any other way of living. Time takes on a new meaning. Sometimes you’re asleep, sometimes you’re awake. Sometimes its light out, sometimes its dark. It is a continuous way of living in which there are no days, but only moments.
You are at the complete mercy of the wind, the weather and the waves. You travel where the wind wants you to. You get wet when it rains. You hold on for dear life when it storms, never completely sure that you are going to make it. You travel great distances painfully slowly. It is like packing up an RV and driving at five miles per hour, except the road moves beneath you and the steering axle is made of jelly.
But for each moment of discomfort, you are rewarded. You sail beneath fiery sunrises, you navigate into shimmering light given off by waxing crescents with every wave from the bow glowing green with phosphorescence. Your thirty six foot world is but a speck in the expanse around you, as you travel under a dome of timeless galaxies and ancient constellations. The Milky Way is a normal sight, and your hopes turn towards the green flash.
Unlike so many, those who sail put as much value into the journey as they do the destination. The destination is simply there, but the glory, the struggle, the pain, the pleasure and the victory are molded by the journey.
In the ultimate journey, the journey of life, the destination will forever be. So pack up the RV, sit back, relax, set cruise control to five miles per hour and enjoy the ride.
Breaking Up
Leaving a boat and skipper is awkwardly similar to breaking up with a girl. First, you make the decision to leave the boat. This isn’t easy because sometimes things are great. But its those few bad times that make you think if its worth it, except that time you got in a fight about nothing is that time you almost died. Imagine you just had sex with your girlfriend, then she decides to hold a knife to your throat. That’s sailing with a bad skipper.
Once you decide to leave, you have to get all your stuff off the boat. Do you take all your stuff, then tell them, or do you tell them and then pack up all your stuff while they awkwardly stand there? We packed up, moved out and then broke up the next day.
Then the actual breakup. You stand by the dock, waving your arms at the boat to get the attention of your skipper. He gets in the dinghy and rows against the current and wind. Alas, he is happy to see you, his crew, and talk of more adventure. But your attitude is different, and you can’t ease into it.
“Grant, we can’t get back on the boat with you.”
Next comes the its not you it’s the ocean bullshit. Even though it was them you don’t want to directly say that. Slowly dumb excuse after dumb excuse pour from your mouth, while they promise a change and plead for another chance. At the end of the day, its over.
Finally, there’s the post breakup awkward stage. You see each other out and about and when you talk you both act like everything is fine, and the trip is going as planned. But then there’s that one meeting where your ex-skipper yells and screams at you.
You realize you left your hoodie on the boat and you have to go back to retrieve it. As you show up, there is potential new crew on the boat, except your ex-skipper is going to pay this crew. Its like walking in on your ex with a hooker. He suddenly gets awkward and ushers the new crew away, as he yells at you that you are not allowed on the boat. He informs you he will get what you forgot and bring it out for you. After a couple of tries, he finally finds it and aggressively throws it at you. You turn and leave a tirade of angry remarks behind as you walk away.
The analogy was supposed to stop here, but finding a new skipper is surprisingly like dating. Gay.
We met Mike at a beach party. We all partied pretty late, and in the process Mile threw some emergency flares in the fire. Seems like a fun guy, has a boat and is leaving the island. We got his number and after waiting the required few days, called him to meet up with him on his boat.
His boat is clean and put together, and he has experience. The only problem is that he wants to take things slow. We want to set sail now, but he wants to wait until marriage, I mean ummm, a good weather window. But the fit seemed right, and sometimes you have to make sacrifice for a relationship. We are setting sail for
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The case of the missing campsite
After that night when we were caught sleeping on the golf course, we had an interesting set of events that ultimately led to us not having a campsite. You might be thinking, "a golf course? what is wrong with them?" Sometimes, when I'm alone, I ask myself the same question out loud.
We were stranded in St. George's because, being Sunday, the buses stopped early, and, being tourists, we had no clue. Since our tent was so far away, we picked a nice looking tree on the 9th, and made due.
In the morning, we resumed our search for a new boat. St. George's Harbor is where all incoming and outgoing boats must pass through customs, so it's a good place for us to be. We have a few possibilities, but no definite plan. Grant is still in the area, and we avoid eye contact but sometimes we run into him on purpose. We found 'Sly Dog' to get the remaining food we'd left on the boat and Grant put up some resistance and banned us henceforth from ever returning to the boat. The thought that he needed to ban us from the boat is slightly amusing.
"I quit!" -- "You can't quit because you're fired!"
Moving on.
We eventually got back on a bus towards Horseshoe Bay, near our campsite, but not before buying some Gotslinger's rum and a packet of sausage to cook on the beach. Upon returning to the site we found that it was missing.
"Isn't this where our tent used to be?" Alex sputtered, mouth agape.
I nodded dumbly in agreement, but had not an answer.
We called the police and they were very friendly. It is a strange feeling being on the right end of a police investigation. We would later find out that the Bermuda Parks Department had confiscated all our stuff (including passports -- lesson learned). We were camping illegally, and, being tourists, had no clue.
Alex was pretty down, and understandably. We thought that all of our camping ge
ar had been stolen, and since I'm using all his old gear, it hurt him doubly. We still had what we bought in St. George's and Alex still had his camera. Alex rolled up two cigarettes, normally I don't smoke, but I thought this was as good a time as any to start.
The hand rolled cigarettes look like joints so we pulled some looks from families walking back to the resort. Also, we were grumpy and we smelled bad because we slept on a golf course the night before. It could have been worse. After all, we still had the rum.
After a good smoke, Alex turned to me.
"Well, f*ck it. We've got some sausages."
"And rum" I agreed.
We made a fire in a cove on the beach and cooked some sausages. I dug up a huge stump for the fire, but Alex said we couldn't use it because it was too big. There is nothing that is too big to burn in my opinion.
Later we saw a man staring out to the ocean and we invited him over. His name was Orlondo and I have never met a nicer person in my life. We hung out for a while on the beach and then put the fire out. Orlondo gave us his phone number and Alex and I snuck over the dune to the fancy resort next door. We slept on the beach chairs and we didn't start smelling any better.
We spent the next day tracking down the parks department and having our things returned. The fine for illegal camping is $100. When we inquired about how to camp legally, we were told it would be another $100 deposit plus $12 bucks a night. No thanks, we just gave you $100. We called Orlondo and he said we could camp on his land for free. While we waited for him to pick us up we sat on the office porch and drank rum and pineapple juice. The juice came from a can that we got from grant and it had diesel all over it. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention there is a diesel leak in the boat. It made the rum taste better.
Bermuda is a strange place. After the departement finished slapping our wrists, they were very friendly and helpful. "Oh you're looking to crew on a boat? Let me call so-and-so, they might know somebody" In the United States the people who write your citations aren't so willing to smile. Anyway, we eventually met head ranger, who packed our stuff. He said that he was "Sorry for the inconvenience."
Not as sorry as I am guy, but it's hard to hate on such a friendly person.
We set up a new camp and walked to the store to buy dinner. I could see in the cashier's face that we hadn't showered in five days. That is okay because we still had some rum left.
I'm glad we didn't take any pictures because we had a very homeless look. Also we were drunk.
Mother be proud.
We were stranded in St. George's because, being Sunday, the buses stopped early, and, being tourists, we had no clue. Since our tent was so far away, we picked a nice looking tree on the 9th, and made due.
In the morning, we resumed our search for a new boat. St. George's Harbor is where all incoming and outgoing boats must pass through customs, so it's a good place for us to be. We have a few possibilities, but no definite plan. Grant is still in the area, and we avoid eye contact but sometimes we run into him on purpose. We found 'Sly Dog' to get the remaining food we'd left on the boat and Grant put up some resistance and banned us henceforth from ever returning to the boat. The thought that he needed to ban us from the boat is slightly amusing.
"I quit!" -- "You can't quit because you're fired!"
Moving on.
We eventually got back on a bus towards Horseshoe Bay, near our campsite, but not before buying some Gotslinger's rum and a packet of sausage to cook on the beach. Upon returning to the site we found that it was missing.
"Isn't this where our tent used to be?" Alex sputtered, mouth agape.
I nodded dumbly in agreement, but had not an answer.
We called the police and they were very friendly. It is a strange feeling being on the right end of a police investigation. We would later find out that the Bermuda Parks Department had confiscated all our stuff (including passports -- lesson learned). We were camping illegally, and, being tourists, had no clue.
Alex was pretty down, and understandably. We thought that all of our camping ge
ar had been stolen, and since I'm using all his old gear, it hurt him doubly. We still had what we bought in St. George's and Alex still had his camera. Alex rolled up two cigarettes, normally I don't smoke, but I thought this was as good a time as any to start.The hand rolled cigarettes look like joints so we pulled some looks from families walking back to the resort. Also, we were grumpy and we smelled bad because we slept on a golf course the night before. It could have been worse. After all, we still had the rum.
After a good smoke, Alex turned to me.
"Well, f*ck it. We've got some sausages."
"And rum" I agreed.
We made a fire in a cove on the beach and cooked some sausages. I dug up a huge stump for the fire, but Alex said we couldn't use it because it was too big. There is nothing that is too big to burn in my opinion.
Later we saw a man staring out to the ocean and we invited him over. His name was Orlondo and I have never met a nicer person in my life. We hung out for a while on the beach and then put the fire out. Orlondo gave us his phone number and Alex and I snuck over the dune to the fancy resort next door. We slept on the beach chairs and we didn't start smelling any better.
We spent the next day tracking down the parks department and having our things returned. The fine for illegal camping is $100. When we inquired about how to camp legally, we were told it would be another $100 deposit plus $12 bucks a night. No thanks, we just gave you $100. We called Orlondo and he said we could camp on his land for free. While we waited for him to pick us up we sat on the office porch and drank rum and pineapple juice. The juice came from a can that we got from grant and it had diesel all over it. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention there is a diesel leak in the boat. It made the rum taste better.
Bermuda is a strange place. After the departement finished slapping our wrists, they were very friendly and helpful. "Oh you're looking to crew on a boat? Let me call so-and-so, they might know somebody" In the United States the people who write your citations aren't so willing to smile. Anyway, we eventually met head ranger, who packed our stuff. He said that he was "Sorry for the inconvenience."
Not as sorry as I am guy, but it's hard to hate on such a friendly person.
We set up a new camp and walked to the store to buy dinner. I could see in the cashier's face that we hadn't showered in five days. That is okay because we still had some rum left.
I'm glad we didn't take any pictures because we had a very homeless look. Also we were drunk.
Mother be proud.
Rum Drink from Topher Wright on Vimeo.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Alex is great
After the storm I walked out to the bow to rest and watch the choppy seas. I reflected on what just happened and realized that there is nobody in the world I would rather take on a storm with than Alex Bamberger. During the storm he was leaping about the deck pulling and heaving and holding on for dear life. He was probably beat up less than me because he is stronger than I am. I like to poke fun at his overeager Eagle Scout attitude, but secretly I'm jealous. If I were ever to suffer a severe injury, Alex is the one I would want there.
"That was the most scared I have ever been in my life." He later confessed to me.
I would have to agree, it was the scariest moment of my life. At the time, however, there isn't time to be scared. The true terrifying paralysis and subsequent joy in life only really set in afterwards.
As I lay on the bow a hand slipped out from underneath the forward hatch.
"Topher.....pancakes"
It was mid-afternoon and I had been very busy in the storm all morning on almost no sleep.
I didn't even have to move and there it was, the best damn looking breakfast of my life.
So here's to you Alex Bamberger
Topher loves you more than you will know
(whoa whoa whoa)
God bless you please Alex Bamberger
Heaven holds a place for
those who make me pancakes
P.S. Alex always takes the pictures so I took one of him taking pictures so a picture of him would on here somewhere.
"That was the most scared I have ever been in my life." He later confessed to me.
I would have to agree, it was the scariest moment of my life. At the time, however, there isn't time to be scared. The true terrifying paralysis and subsequent joy in life only really set in afterwards.
As I lay on the bow a hand slipped out from underneath the forward hatch.
"Topher.....pancakes"
It was mid-afternoon and I had been very busy in the storm all morning on almost no sleep.
I didn't even have to move and there it was, the best damn looking breakfast of my life.
So here's to you Alex Bamberger
Topher loves you more than you will know
(whoa whoa whoa)
God bless you please Alex Bamberger
Heaven holds a place for
those who make me pancakes
P.S. Alex always takes the pictures so I took one of him taking pictures so a picture of him would on here somewhere.
Fun In Bermuda
We have finally found a place to stay! It took a guy named George from the Dinghy Club in Hamilton to finally lead us to a nice spot. After our introduction with him, we got right to the point by asking if he knew anywhere on island that we could pitch a tent. His response "Well, Bermuda is a weird place. You see, they think they are their own country." That sounds like a dumb comment, but it is actually pretty true. US dollars are accepted everywhere, and the exchange rate is always 1 to 1. A third of the people here are from the Azores, and the others are tourists.
But that is besides the point. He led us to Horseshoe Bay. On the map it looked like a row of beaches, backed by "national" parks. We hopped a bus and head out. The sun was setting as we got to the beach, and after seeing it I believe it when George told us it was one of the top ten beaches in the world.
After some running around on the beach, we looked around in the woods behind the beach and found the perfect spot:
It is less than 100 yards from the beach, and close to a shower and bathroom facility. Perfect. We walked back down to the beach with our pads and sleeping bags, and fell asleep on a platform, directly on the beach. We were accompanied by a few wandering locals, and a nice couple who were enjoying wine and, well, each other by candlelight.
"Hey boy, its time to wake up!" I have no idea who said it, but that was what I woke up to. The locals are very friendly, and one was probably joking with me as he came down to the beach for his morning dip. Tawfer and I spent the morning adventuring around the beach, and seeing what we found.
We found a lot of rocks, all of which were very sharp. However, we also found cove after cove of pristine beach with no people on them.
We spent the morning rock climbing, rock jumping, and Portuguese Man-of-War dodging. The only problem with rock climbing around here is that you get to the top of a rock, and your feet are covered in blood. Not that you are really cut up, but you've got some good scrapes that have had some time to bleed and run around on your foot. After a particular rock tawfer and I both has one pretty mangled foot at the top. We decided that we should swim into shore very quickly, as to not allow the sharks time to get to us. Kind of kidding, but serious too.
There are more pictures of our mornig adventures on Flickr, including an awesome front flip by Tawfer off the rock pictured above.
Off to St. George's to look for boats.
But that is besides the point. He led us to Horseshoe Bay. On the map it looked like a row of beaches, backed by "national" parks. We hopped a bus and head out. The sun was setting as we got to the beach, and after seeing it I believe it when George told us it was one of the top ten beaches in the world.
After some running around on the beach, we looked around in the woods behind the beach and found the perfect spot:
It is less than 100 yards from the beach, and close to a shower and bathroom facility. Perfect. We walked back down to the beach with our pads and sleeping bags, and fell asleep on a platform, directly on the beach. We were accompanied by a few wandering locals, and a nice couple who were enjoying wine and, well, each other by candlelight."Hey boy, its time to wake up!" I have no idea who said it, but that was what I woke up to. The locals are very friendly, and one was probably joking with me as he came down to the beach for his morning dip. Tawfer and I spent the morning adventuring around the beach, and seeing what we found.
We found a lot of rocks, all of which were very sharp. However, we also found cove after cove of pristine beach with no people on them.
We spent the morning rock climbing, rock jumping, and Portuguese Man-of-War dodging. The only problem with rock climbing around here is that you get to the top of a rock, and your feet are covered in blood. Not that you are really cut up, but you've got some good scrapes that have had some time to bleed and run around on your foot. After a particular rock tawfer and I both has one pretty mangled foot at the top. We decided that we should swim into shore very quickly, as to not allow the sharks time to get to us. Kind of kidding, but serious too.There are more pictures of our mornig adventures on Flickr, including an awesome front flip by Tawfer off the rock pictured above.Off to St. George's to look for boats.
Friday, July 3, 2009
First Storm
It was our 2nd day at sea, and everything was going well. We were keeping a slow pace, but steady. I took the night watch and I have no idea what time that was. Without my phone I never know the time and I quickly lost track of the day.
My watch was going well, Sly Dog was at about 7 knots. The boat feels much faster in the dark when you cannot see the horizon. I could feel the sea building, a gentle swell was quickly growing in amplitude and frequency. I was having lots of fun and everyone else was sleeping.
After what felt like a few hours, I began to feel sleepy and I woke Alex for his watch. I slept on the deck of the boat.
Alex says that it was not long until he woke me up.
"We need to reef in."
The swell was continuing to build, and the wind had definitely picked up. You could feel the storm coming with the daylight. Grant came up from the cabin.
"Rocky Seas, arg. It be time for battle."
Grant is crazy.
I pulled the sails in a bit and Grant set up a water collection device because you can never have too much fresh water.
We sat in anticipation for our first blue water storm and Grant was now at the helm.
"Right, the clouds ahead of us dropped. Reef in!"
Grant swung the boat into the wind and started up the engine. The seas were quartering and Dimitri was looking sea sick. The trick to not getting sea sick is not being in the cabin and not lying down. Outside, beaten by the ran whilst being tossed about the deck, you don't have time to feel sick. Dimitri went inside to lay down and it was all over for him.
Once you realize that a boat with a 6ft keel is not easily blown over in the wind, a storm can be fun. Grant had the boat under control so I pulled my was to the bow. You really get tossed around up there, and as long as you don't stop to think about how far away the nearest land (and safety) is, it is quite fun getting thrown around.
I stood on the bow and yelled like a hyena for awhile, then return to the stern to put the sails back up. The wind was still very strong and Grant was shaving. I guess a storm is as good a time as any to have a sharp razor about.
We were relaxing and when the second storm hit, it was a surprise.
"Reef in the Genoa!"
The boat was nearly on it's side and I was tossed into the cabin, down the stairs, while addressing the sail. That was not the first nor last bruise I would receive that day.
Dimitri, you are a good guy and I know you were sick, but you were very much in the way of the Genoa sheet when I needed it. I could not get to the sheet to complete the jibe, and the sail and rope went flapping around the deck like a very large and dangerous whip, smashing things. We are lucky that no one was in the way of that whip because it would have hurt enough to call the coast guard. Instead, the thrashing ropes destroyed the left side of the dodger and ripped the lower half of the main sail to pieces.
I recovered the deadly sheet and attempted to pull the furler line (which makes the sail smaller, which is good in a storm :). For some boating reason it is unwise to use a winch on this line, so you have to pull it using only your arm strength. I pulled as hard as I possibly could and it would not budge. A gust of wind hit the sail and the boat tipped over again == more bruises.
Grant turned into the wind again and I pulled nearly a quarter of the necessary amount of line in and I though my arms would fall off. Since it was so hard to keep the boat pointed into the wind because of the waves, I would pull a foot or two, then cleat the rope, wait for the boat to spin into the wind again, and repeat.
Another gust hit us and sly dog tipped over and dipped a railing into the water. I was standing on a surface that is usually a wall, pulling up on a line that I could not move. My hands were bloody and I truly thought the boat was going to capsize. I have never tried that hard to pull something before in my life, and, almost by magic, I reached the end of the line and the boat began to right itself.
We were in the eye of the storm, it was calm and the skies were beautifully clear above us. All around us in every direction was stormy doom. I sat down, exhausted, looked at my bloody hands and mustered my best Ace Ventura impression.
"Three storms is tooo much"
Posideon must have heard me because the storm dissapated while we were in the eye of it. However, now our mail sail was torn up. Which is a good part of the reason that it took twice as long as expected to arrive in Bermuda.
Sail on.
My watch was going well, Sly Dog was at about 7 knots. The boat feels much faster in the dark when you cannot see the horizon. I could feel the sea building, a gentle swell was quickly growing in amplitude and frequency. I was having lots of fun and everyone else was sleeping.
After what felt like a few hours, I began to feel sleepy and I woke Alex for his watch. I slept on the deck of the boat.
Alex says that it was not long until he woke me up.
"We need to reef in."
The swell was continuing to build, and the wind had definitely picked up. You could feel the storm coming with the daylight. Grant came up from the cabin.
"Rocky Seas, arg. It be time for battle."
Grant is crazy.
I pulled the sails in a bit and Grant set up a water collection device because you can never have too much fresh water.
We sat in anticipation for our first blue water storm and Grant was now at the helm.
"Right, the clouds ahead of us dropped. Reef in!"
Grant swung the boat into the wind and started up the engine. The seas were quartering and Dimitri was looking sea sick. The trick to not getting sea sick is not being in the cabin and not lying down. Outside, beaten by the ran whilst being tossed about the deck, you don't have time to feel sick. Dimitri went inside to lay down and it was all over for him.
Once you realize that a boat with a 6ft keel is not easily blown over in the wind, a storm can be fun. Grant had the boat under control so I pulled my was to the bow. You really get tossed around up there, and as long as you don't stop to think about how far away the nearest land (and safety) is, it is quite fun getting thrown around.
I stood on the bow and yelled like a hyena for awhile, then return to the stern to put the sails back up. The wind was still very strong and Grant was shaving. I guess a storm is as good a time as any to have a sharp razor about.
We were relaxing and when the second storm hit, it was a surprise.
"Reef in the Genoa!"
The boat was nearly on it's side and I was tossed into the cabin, down the stairs, while addressing the sail. That was not the first nor last bruise I would receive that day.
Dimitri, you are a good guy and I know you were sick, but you were very much in the way of the Genoa sheet when I needed it. I could not get to the sheet to complete the jibe, and the sail and rope went flapping around the deck like a very large and dangerous whip, smashing things. We are lucky that no one was in the way of that whip because it would have hurt enough to call the coast guard. Instead, the thrashing ropes destroyed the left side of the dodger and ripped the lower half of the main sail to pieces.
I recovered the deadly sheet and attempted to pull the furler line (which makes the sail smaller, which is good in a storm :). For some boating reason it is unwise to use a winch on this line, so you have to pull it using only your arm strength. I pulled as hard as I possibly could and it would not budge. A gust of wind hit the sail and the boat tipped over again == more bruises.
Grant turned into the wind again and I pulled nearly a quarter of the necessary amount of line in and I though my arms would fall off. Since it was so hard to keep the boat pointed into the wind because of the waves, I would pull a foot or two, then cleat the rope, wait for the boat to spin into the wind again, and repeat.
Another gust hit us and sly dog tipped over and dipped a railing into the water. I was standing on a surface that is usually a wall, pulling up on a line that I could not move. My hands were bloody and I truly thought the boat was going to capsize. I have never tried that hard to pull something before in my life, and, almost by magic, I reached the end of the line and the boat began to right itself.
We were in the eye of the storm, it was calm and the skies were beautifully clear above us. All around us in every direction was stormy doom. I sat down, exhausted, looked at my bloody hands and mustered my best Ace Ventura impression.
"Three storms is tooo much"
Posideon must have heard me because the storm dissapated while we were in the eye of it. However, now our mail sail was torn up. Which is a good part of the reason that it took twice as long as expected to arrive in Bermuda.
Sail on.
Marooned
So all we have been doing is posting random stories that happened somewhere between Miami and Bermuda. We haven't had time to put them all up, so they will continue coming. But to let you know whats happening to us right now...
We ditched our boat. We will not be leaving Bermuda on Sly Dog. Some leadership issues and unsafe conditions led us to make that decision. Currently we are two guys with huge backpacks homeless on a tropical island in the middle of the Atlantic. There are worse places to be stranded. The most interesting this about this is the looks you get when you walk into a bar with a hiking backpack loaded down, complete with a bag of chips stuffed under a strap.
The night we arrived, we packed everything up and left the boat for good. We walked down to the dinghy club, where there were supposed to be showers. We couldn't get the showers to work, but there was a hose outside so we dragged the hose into the shower and got clean like that. We grabbed some fried food and a beer, and then went to bed in the grass next to the dinghy club. Last night we slept on the trampoline on a 42 foot catamaran that was forced to Bermuda by a storm in the Caribbean. I use the word 'forced' loosely.
The plan going forward (although the idea about this adventure is to not have a plan): We are walking around the island posting ads for a boat, and have a maybe on a 42 foot catamaran going to central america. But for now, were gonna enjoy this island.
We ditched our boat. We will not be leaving Bermuda on Sly Dog. Some leadership issues and unsafe conditions led us to make that decision. Currently we are two guys with huge backpacks homeless on a tropical island in the middle of the Atlantic. There are worse places to be stranded. The most interesting this about this is the looks you get when you walk into a bar with a hiking backpack loaded down, complete with a bag of chips stuffed under a strap.
The night we arrived, we packed everything up and left the boat for good. We walked down to the dinghy club, where there were supposed to be showers. We couldn't get the showers to work, but there was a hose outside so we dragged the hose into the shower and got clean like that. We grabbed some fried food and a beer, and then went to bed in the grass next to the dinghy club. Last night we slept on the trampoline on a 42 foot catamaran that was forced to Bermuda by a storm in the Caribbean. I use the word 'forced' loosely.
The plan going forward (although the idea about this adventure is to not have a plan): We are walking around the island posting ads for a boat, and have a maybe on a 42 foot catamaran going to central america. But for now, were gonna enjoy this island.
Corporate Hospitality
Immediately before leaving the Caribbean and coming to Bermuda, we had to stock up on as much water as possible. We had anchored the boat right off an island, and decided to row ashore to see what water we could find. As we got closer to the island, we realized that there was a cruise ship docked offshore, along with many people on the beach. We knew there had to be water.
As we got the dinghy up to the rocks, a lifeguard came and asked us if we planned on coming on the island. No, we're not. We just rowed 100 yards against the current and wind to come and look into the water.
Anyways, the Royal Caribbean site manager came out to meet us, and we quickly became friends. She let us use her office for internet access (to register the EPIRB) and they gave us 12 gallons of fresh water.
The best part was when we were about to leave, we asked her if there was anywhere we could get some food on the island. She pointed and told us to go get ourselves a burger and come back. Turns out she pointed us to the buffet for the passengers on the cruise. When you have been living on a boat for a few weeks, a free buffet is heaven on earth. We all ate three plates of food, and put plenty of fruit into our backpacks for to boat.
I guess I never considered corporate hospitality. Usually they don't want to be hospitable, due to rules or regulations. But when they do want to be hospitable, its great becasue what they are giving you doesn't actually belong to the person who decides to give it to you.
2 bahama islands. 2 free meals. Not so Bad.
As we got the dinghy up to the rocks, a lifeguard came and asked us if we planned on coming on the island. No, we're not. We just rowed 100 yards against the current and wind to come and look into the water.
Anyways, the Royal Caribbean site manager came out to meet us, and we quickly became friends. She let us use her office for internet access (to register the EPIRB) and they gave us 12 gallons of fresh water.
The best part was when we were about to leave, we asked her if there was anywhere we could get some food on the island. She pointed and told us to go get ourselves a burger and come back. Turns out she pointed us to the buffet for the passengers on the cruise. When you have been living on a boat for a few weeks, a free buffet is heaven on earth. We all ate three plates of food, and put plenty of fruit into our backpacks for to boat.
I guess I never considered corporate hospitality. Usually they don't want to be hospitable, due to rules or regulations. But when they do want to be hospitable, its great becasue what they are giving you doesn't actually belong to the person who decides to give it to you.
2 bahama islands. 2 free meals. Not so Bad.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Windless
Today it has been 2 days without wind.
What really gets to you is the rocking, bobbing, motion. You can not escape it and you even feel dizzy in your dreams. While the boat is moving the wind holds the boat heeled over and, though the boat rocks, it is a pleasant feeling of forward progression.
However when the boat is still, the waves take control and you are captured in the rhythmic meter of the ocean swell. You are not quite seasick, but you are not feeling very well. As if your stomach is gently reminding you that it has gone over. Also, your mind has packed it's bags and your mental capacity is quite limited, as most of your brain is desperately begging your stomach to stop feeling queasy.
I tried to escape the rocking by going for a swim. In the south Atlantic the water is very warm and made of only the bluest water. We were a hundred miles from any coast and I dove in with the swanlike grace better known as a bellyflop.
It is a strange feeling swimming in that much water, you can't help feeling slightly stupid exiting the only floating object in sight. As you dive down you see the best looking blue as the sun reflects off the top of the water, a gorgeous pale blue. And as you look down the sun streaked gradient of water turns to the deepest, creepiest dark blue available. It is like noticing the color blue for the first time.
I dove as deep as I could before my ears hurt, getting further from the boat but not closer to anything else.
To get a fishes perspective, of course.
What really gets to you is the rocking, bobbing, motion. You can not escape it and you even feel dizzy in your dreams. While the boat is moving the wind holds the boat heeled over and, though the boat rocks, it is a pleasant feeling of forward progression.
However when the boat is still, the waves take control and you are captured in the rhythmic meter of the ocean swell. You are not quite seasick, but you are not feeling very well. As if your stomach is gently reminding you that it has gone over. Also, your mind has packed it's bags and your mental capacity is quite limited, as most of your brain is desperately begging your stomach to stop feeling queasy.
I tried to escape the rocking by going for a swim. In the south Atlantic the water is very warm and made of only the bluest water. We were a hundred miles from any coast and I dove in with the swanlike grace better known as a bellyflop.
It is a strange feeling swimming in that much water, you can't help feeling slightly stupid exiting the only floating object in sight. As you dive down you see the best looking blue as the sun reflects off the top of the water, a gorgeous pale blue. And as you look down the sun streaked gradient of water turns to the deepest, creepiest dark blue available. It is like noticing the color blue for the first time.
I dove as deep as I could before my ears hurt, getting further from the boat but not closer to anything else.
To get a fishes perspective, of course.
Run Aground
We have reached Bimini and I read a novel on the way, Hemingway. It was once a popular tourist town, but now the economy brings less tourists from Miami. The town struggles and many windows are boarded up. The locals are nice. Despite Grant's warnings, we walked through the ghetto and back in the dark.
There were lots of people in the street, black people, and nice enough. One approached us.
"Heya mon, howya doin?"
"Word. How's it go?"
They lived on an island, and had the accent easily associated.
"Could be betta mon, just tryin to get my buzz.. been dry all day.
You eva tried real coconut rum?"
"Bacardi or Captain Morgans?"
"hah no mon, I'll show you. You bring the rum and I'll bring the coconuts."
Clearly this man wanted us to get him drunk. That was okay because we wanted to learn how to get coconut juice. Deal.
The drink was good. Rum is cheap in Bimini.
After the rum we found a dock party. The white people with expensive yachts were having a BBQ. The natives were playing drums that looked home-made. The white people were dancing around them.
The black drummers were smiling and good at drumming. The white people were awkward dancers.
"Eat! Eat!" an older woman said in broken english and pushed us towards the food table. We ate grilled lobster and veggies and the drummers played and the people danced.
The older woman came and made me dance with her and I pretended to like dancing. I am not good at pretending that so I stopped shortly.
When the dancers went back to the resort on motor carts we made friends with the drummers and walked back through the ghetto with them. I asked to play their drums and we jammed.
I thought it sounded quite good. They took our picture and I am sure that we looked ridiculous. They laughed at us and I smiled. It was the best smile I've smiled for a year.
We returned to the shoreline and saw that Grant had rowed back to the boat and he had the dingy and we were stuck on the shore for the night.
The resort was nearby so we walked through the gate. We are white and the guard did not ask us any questions. We found a section of the resort under construction. The houses were finished, unfurnished, and unlocked so we went inside. I used a real bathroom and they had a bode. Dimitri is French and had used one before.
We slept on the porch and Alex took some nice photos of the lightning storm. It rained and we had shelter. In the morning I swam out to the boat to get the dingy.
Sail on.
There were lots of people in the street, black people, and nice enough. One approached us.
"Heya mon, howya doin?"
"Word. How's it go?"
They lived on an island, and had the accent easily associated.
"Could be betta mon, just tryin to get my buzz.. been dry all day.
You eva tried real coconut rum?"
"Bacardi or Captain Morgans?"
"hah no mon, I'll show you. You bring the rum and I'll bring the coconuts."
Clearly this man wanted us to get him drunk. That was okay because we wanted to learn how to get coconut juice. Deal.
The drink was good. Rum is cheap in Bimini.
After the rum we found a dock party. The white people with expensive yachts were having a BBQ. The natives were playing drums that looked home-made. The white people were dancing around them.
The black drummers were smiling and good at drumming. The white people were awkward dancers.
"Eat! Eat!" an older woman said in broken english and pushed us towards the food table. We ate grilled lobster and veggies and the drummers played and the people danced.
The older woman came and made me dance with her and I pretended to like dancing. I am not good at pretending that so I stopped shortly.
When the dancers went back to the resort on motor carts we made friends with the drummers and walked back through the ghetto with them. I asked to play their drums and we jammed.
I thought it sounded quite good. They took our picture and I am sure that we looked ridiculous. They laughed at us and I smiled. It was the best smile I've smiled for a year.
We returned to the shoreline and saw that Grant had rowed back to the boat and he had the dingy and we were stuck on the shore for the night.
The resort was nearby so we walked through the gate. We are white and the guard did not ask us any questions. We found a section of the resort under construction. The houses were finished, unfurnished, and unlocked so we went inside. I used a real bathroom and they had a bode. Dimitri is French and had used one before.
We slept on the porch and Alex took some nice photos of the lightning storm. It rained and we had shelter. In the morning I swam out to the boat to get the dingy.
Sail on.
Bimini
Upon arrival at Bimini, we anchored offshore and went swimming while waiting for the customs office to close. After the customs office is closed, we don’t have to pay any entrance fees! The Cubans used to come to The Bahamas to fish, and subsequently began to fish out all the waters. To battle this The Bahamas instated a $300 fee to all boats that come to its waters. This fee not only drove away the fisherman, but also the weekend boaters from Miami. The boaters from Miami brought business with them, and their absence was noticed in Bimini, as we were about to see.
With the customs office closed, we motored into Bimini through the channel. The shore to our port side was covered with closed down marinas and decrepit buildings. The only noticeable movement besides a few golf carts on the street was a large trash incinerating factory, which was spewing black smoke into the clouds and an ominous hum into the air. Run down as it was, there were a few boats moving about.
We set anchor and went ashore. Grant had plans of plundering an old shipwreck for parts, while we were going to walk around the island to see what we could find.
Once ashore, there was a dirt road about 20 yards from a conch shell filled beach. We cut through the pine trees and emerged on the road. As we walked into town, we were passed by a good combination of golf carts and cars. The vehicles seemed to abide by no laws. Although they would not speed they all had different tactics regarding the side of the road that they drove on, and how closely they would drive to a pedestrian. The road was surrounded by a good combination of run down row houses and simple, family owned convenience stores. The busiest of bars had four people in them, and the shops were all brightly colored but showing their influence from the sun.
There was an interesting mix of people on the streets. Mostly locals, but occasionally there would be a golf cart of people who were obviously tourists. They were either young, loud and boisterous or older and more reserved.
As we were waling, a toothless man approached us.
“How you guys doin’ tonight?” He asked us.
“Just fine, how about yourself?” I responded.
“I’m excellent.” He got right to the point. “You guys ever had rum and coconut jelly?”
“Nope, but I would be willing to try some.”
“Alright, I’ll make you guys a deal. You guys get the rum and I’ll get the coconut, and we’ll make some drinks.”
His motive was become more obvious, but I was still game. After finding a suitable coconut tree, he climbed it as if his hands and feet had adhesive on them. Once at the top, coconuts began to fall and bounce on the ground. We quickly gathered them and our friend came down the tree.
Coconuts – check. Next up was the rum. I bought some rum from a convenience store, and Tawfer got some cups from a bar. Our friend found an old beer bottle on the ground, lined it up with the end of the coconut, and after a few solid hits he drove a circular hole in the end of the nut, perfect for pouring. We made the drinks, and enjoyed them.
Our friend’s motive became crystal clear when he started talking of continuing this activity. Granted he had satisfied his motive of free alcohol through us, but we had some fun with it too.
While drinking our concoctions, a man by the name of Big Boy was walking by. Big boy was a drummer, and was on his way to play in a drum circle. This interested all of us, especially Tawfer. A real Bahamian drum circle! Big Boy told us the name of the place he was playing at, and we told him we would meet him there.
Finding a drum circle on an island is never hard. You simply follow the noise. We came upon a marina, which was obviously the host of the drum circle. We entered the marina, and what we found was not exactly what we had hoped for.
Big boy was playing bells and a whistle. Around him were two boys, about the age of twelve. They were both playing drums that were about the size of themselves, with lambskin from local animals stretched over the top. Another man was pounding away on a tam. The group was standing on a dock, and all around them were white vacationers, dancing and cooking and eating. The docks were full of large power yachts. The vacationers were taking pictures of the drummers, while smoking cigars and misusing professional camera gear. I wanted to take pictures, but I didn’t want to put these kind locals on showcase. The music was good, and I took a few shots anyways.
Dripping with sweat, the drummers decided to take a break. The tourists on yachts offered them food and beer, which they gladly accepted. In fact, I was also offered food from a lady yelling at me to eat in Spanish. I went over to the food and found lobster tail and rack of lamb, among other things. I guess there is a such thing as a free lunch, or rather dinner. After helping myself, I went and sat back down next to Big Boy. I found out that he is a mason by profession, but there just isn’t any work in the area. He spoke of his girlfriend, who was at church.
“Why aren’t you at church with her?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m not Christian.” He responded. I pointed to the small gold cross around his neck.
“Well what is that then?”
“I don’t need to be a Christian to have the Lord on my side!” he responded with a chuckle.
After the drummers had finished eating, they went back and got another plateful of food, and covered it in Aluminum foil. After inquiry, I discovered they were bringing the food back home for their families to eat. Big Boy informed me that they had come down to the marina to play for the free food, as times are tough in Bimini.
We left the marina, and walked back to the beach where we left Grant. Still unsatisfied with the amount of adventure, we decided to go into the resort to try to get some ice. At the end of the road, there is a large arch, with a guard post on either side. The guards were there, but we just walked through like we belonged. They looked at us funny, but gave us no trouble. We were obviously not locals, but also not quite tourists. The advantage to this is that you can go anywhere, but the disadvantage is that you don’t really belong anywhere either. Once inside the archway, the landscape went from wild and trash ridden to perfectly maintained and landscaped. The buildings were new, the public bathrooms immaculate and an assortment of shops looking displaced from downtown coconut grove.
Why is it that so many people travel to a new location, but then cut yourself off completely from what is really there? It is a lose lose for everyone. The traveler never gets to experience anything new, except some weather. The local residents suffer if they depend on the tourism. All so some single investor can benefit, at the cost of so many locals.
We drank a ton of their water, used their bathrooms, and found a half built house to sleep in. We laid down on the porch, and fell asleep watching thunderstorms far out at sea.
With the customs office closed, we motored into Bimini through the channel. The shore to our port side was covered with closed down marinas and decrepit buildings. The only noticeable movement besides a few golf carts on the street was a large trash incinerating factory, which was spewing black smoke into the clouds and an ominous hum into the air. Run down as it was, there were a few boats moving about.
We set anchor and went ashore. Grant had plans of plundering an old shipwreck for parts, while we were going to walk around the island to see what we could find.
Once ashore, there was a dirt road about 20 yards from a conch shell filled beach. We cut through the pine trees and emerged on the road. As we walked into town, we were passed by a good combination of golf carts and cars. The vehicles seemed to abide by no laws. Although they would not speed they all had different tactics regarding the side of the road that they drove on, and how closely they would drive to a pedestrian. The road was surrounded by a good combination of run down row houses and simple, family owned convenience stores. The busiest of bars had four people in them, and the shops were all brightly colored but showing their influence from the sun.
There was an interesting mix of people on the streets. Mostly locals, but occasionally there would be a golf cart of people who were obviously tourists. They were either young, loud and boisterous or older and more reserved.
As we were waling, a toothless man approached us.
“How you guys doin’ tonight?” He asked us.
“Just fine, how about yourself?” I responded.
“I’m excellent.” He got right to the point. “You guys ever had rum and coconut jelly?”
“Nope, but I would be willing to try some.”
“Alright, I’ll make you guys a deal. You guys get the rum and I’ll get the coconut, and we’ll make some drinks.”
His motive was become more obvious, but I was still game. After finding a suitable coconut tree, he climbed it as if his hands and feet had adhesive on them. Once at the top, coconuts began to fall and bounce on the ground. We quickly gathered them and our friend came down the tree.
Coconuts – check. Next up was the rum. I bought some rum from a convenience store, and Tawfer got some cups from a bar. Our friend found an old beer bottle on the ground, lined it up with the end of the coconut, and after a few solid hits he drove a circular hole in the end of the nut, perfect for pouring. We made the drinks, and enjoyed them.
Our friend’s motive became crystal clear when he started talking of continuing this activity. Granted he had satisfied his motive of free alcohol through us, but we had some fun with it too.
While drinking our concoctions, a man by the name of Big Boy was walking by. Big boy was a drummer, and was on his way to play in a drum circle. This interested all of us, especially Tawfer. A real Bahamian drum circle! Big Boy told us the name of the place he was playing at, and we told him we would meet him there.
Finding a drum circle on an island is never hard. You simply follow the noise. We came upon a marina, which was obviously the host of the drum circle. We entered the marina, and what we found was not exactly what we had hoped for.
Big boy was playing bells and a whistle. Around him were two boys, about the age of twelve. They were both playing drums that were about the size of themselves, with lambskin from local animals stretched over the top. Another man was pounding away on a tam. The group was standing on a dock, and all around them were white vacationers, dancing and cooking and eating. The docks were full of large power yachts. The vacationers were taking pictures of the drummers, while smoking cigars and misusing professional camera gear. I wanted to take pictures, but I didn’t want to put these kind locals on showcase. The music was good, and I took a few shots anyways.
Dripping with sweat, the drummers decided to take a break. The tourists on yachts offered them food and beer, which they gladly accepted. In fact, I was also offered food from a lady yelling at me to eat in Spanish. I went over to the food and found lobster tail and rack of lamb, among other things. I guess there is a such thing as a free lunch, or rather dinner. After helping myself, I went and sat back down next to Big Boy. I found out that he is a mason by profession, but there just isn’t any work in the area. He spoke of his girlfriend, who was at church.
“Why aren’t you at church with her?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m not Christian.” He responded. I pointed to the small gold cross around his neck.
“Well what is that then?”
“I don’t need to be a Christian to have the Lord on my side!” he responded with a chuckle.
After the drummers had finished eating, they went back and got another plateful of food, and covered it in Aluminum foil. After inquiry, I discovered they were bringing the food back home for their families to eat. Big Boy informed me that they had come down to the marina to play for the free food, as times are tough in Bimini.
We left the marina, and walked back to the beach where we left Grant. Still unsatisfied with the amount of adventure, we decided to go into the resort to try to get some ice. At the end of the road, there is a large arch, with a guard post on either side. The guards were there, but we just walked through like we belonged. They looked at us funny, but gave us no trouble. We were obviously not locals, but also not quite tourists. The advantage to this is that you can go anywhere, but the disadvantage is that you don’t really belong anywhere either. Once inside the archway, the landscape went from wild and trash ridden to perfectly maintained and landscaped. The buildings were new, the public bathrooms immaculate and an assortment of shops looking displaced from downtown coconut grove.
Why is it that so many people travel to a new location, but then cut yourself off completely from what is really there? It is a lose lose for everyone. The traveler never gets to experience anything new, except some weather. The local residents suffer if they depend on the tourism. All so some single investor can benefit, at the cost of so many locals.
We drank a ton of their water, used their bathrooms, and found a half built house to sleep in. We laid down on the porch, and fell asleep watching thunderstorms far out at sea.
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