Stocking Island, BS

Dispatch Part I

It is Friday, 30 May, and the view above is what I have sitting here at my formica table aboard the good ship PINEAPPLE, a moored houseboat off Stocking Island, Exuma, The Bahamas. We arrived yesterday after a relatively uneventful two leg flight through Miami, and we'll be here through Sunday morning, at which point we rendezvous with friends and their sailboat for a slow meander north through the Bahamas before setting our sails for the Chesapeake.

You may ask yourself why I am on a moored houseboat rather than some other accommodation, and that would be a solid question. The Kitten makes virtually all our berthing decisions, and her judgment is impeccable, so when she gleefully sent me the specs on this vessel across the interwebs, I thought nothing of it. There are maybe ten other moored boats in our vicinity, none of which is inhabited. Thirty yards off my bow is a little spot called “Chat and Chill" where I imagine some of our eating will be done.

Three nights in a quaint houseboat is good preparation for a transit in a (larger) catamaran, as one must reaquiant with things like water conservation, careful management of electrical loads, waste disposal, and tight squeezes when cooking. I made a major decision this morning, an island-induced vow not to shave until I am in my own bathroom at home. I thought about it as I lay listening to the chatter of noisy morning gulls, considering an earlier vow to shave every day going forward. I have a little electric that I use for this small task, as I am not particularly hairy nor is there much surface area to cover on my freakishly small head. It is with me, but it makes noise. And who am I to make noise while the Princess sleeps? So, in order to preserve her slumber, I am invoking the rare “continental U.S.” proviso and declaring that the everyday shaving measure applies only within that geography. There is precedent for this, as my inamorata gave up Cokes a few years back, but claims (ex post facto) that the vow applies only there. Nearly two weeks from now when I stand in front of the mirror to harvest this facial crop, I will remember again why it is that I so rarely go that long without shaving.

If you have never lolled lazily on a mooring ball in an island cove with your first cup of coffee of the day, I recommend it without reservation. The interwebs tell me that we can expect a high of 88 today (feels like 99!), and our little slice of heaven is not air conditioned. It is already 81 and while pleasant, there are hints of the inferno to come. That said, our houseboat has a sliding board, so there will be no excuse for not using mother nature to cool off. I am particularly concerned about sunburn issues, as I am a prototypical pasty, doughy white boy. Catherine rather directly suggested last night that I be forehanded on this, and I think her wise.

One of the things that tends to rankle when I show up in these idyllic island locales is timing. More to the point, I always seem to land with about an hour and a half to get through whatever immigration procedure there is, meet our car/driver, and get to the grocery store that will invariably close at a ridiculously early hour (in this case, 6PM). We discussed this with our driver (Ray) last night, and he agreed they should be open later. He indicated it was big news locally when the establishment to which we were headed extended its hours from five to six. We made it with time to spare, and loaded up on far more food than two people will need in the sixty hours we will be here, but we comforted ourselves by saying that we can schlep it all to the sailboat we meet in two days.

I really only have one must have requirement when on these little travels, and that is the availability of morning coffee. Either provided by the establishement, a short walk down the street, or leftover from previous tenants, I will not be caught unprepared. As I was not able to assess fully the conditions for meeting this requirement, I brought along a jar of instant coffee (long standing and attentive readers will remember my affinity for it), powdered creamer, and liquid Splenda. The modest kitchen has a kettle and hotplate (featured in the Air BnB ad), and so I am now two coffees into my morning. There is a drip coffee maker here (not featured) and several coffee containers from previous residents, but I am sticking with my own supplies and grandly enjoying myself.

One drawback discovered…the boat has solar panels feeding a battery bank, with a small diesel engine to provide for backup power. Our batteries were at 97% when we arrived, and now sit at 31%, with generally accepted power conservation practices in place. The (tiny, dorm room) refer is the only thing we left on overnight, in addition to a few charging peripherals. Need to monitor this closely.

There is no wifi provided, so I am making use of the $12 a day I shovel off to ATT whenever I travel so that I can create a hotspot here in my gently rolling bliss.

I am unaware of any plans for the day, as I have made none and have been informed of none. My major quest is to ingest sufficient calories to support cellular respiration. More to follow.

Careful readers will note that I am opening comments for this series. If you choose this opportunity to vent your spleen about an earlier post without this option, you will be dropped from the email list.