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At sea with the boys of summer
We spent the rest of the day at nearby Water Cay, snorkeling and exploring. The boys, dressed in buccaneer bandannas, launched an attack and successfully took control of a beautiful white crescent of beach. It wasn't much of a battle considering the fact that there wasn't another human in sight, but their father and I still appreciated the effort since they allowed us to share their claim. We stretched out on the sand while they gathered a treasure-trove of giant conch shells.
We made it back to Guana in time to get a prime anchorage. While Melanie prepared dinner, Gary and I judged the most-dramatic-jackknife contest, with our puppyfish repeatedly hurling themselves off the stern. We sat down to eat as the sky slowly shifted to a deep gold, with the dropping sun silhouetting sailboats in the distance.
Melanie brought out our plates, each with a generous slab of grilled tuna on a bed of spinach mashed potatoes. I held my breath as Marlie screwed up his nose, until Melanie laid down his plate, which held an elegant presentation of chicken nuggets. Big smiles all around. Perhaps, I thought, we could ask the crew to come home with us, float the Meltemia in the little lake behind our house and have the boys live aboard.
After dinner we lazed on deck, gazing at the amazing dome of twinkling stars until they were upstaged by Nipper's fireworks. Melanie helped the kids blow up balloons and light glow sticks and they marched around the trampoline, keeping everyone thoroughly entertained. A procession of dinghies buzzed toward shore, ferrying revelers to the big party at Nippers', but we were perfectly content with our own little celebration, feeling lucky to be together, bobbing on the Sea of Abaco as the sky sparkled red, white and blue.
Over the next several days, we fell into a blissful rhythm of sailing and exploring, making our way south down the chain -- snorkeling the lush reef at Fowl Cay, scaring up sea biscuits on the Tilloo Banks, wading the vast flats off Tahiti Beach, happy-houring at the famous flotsam-adorned beach bar Pete's Pub in Little Harbour -- and discovering a new anchorage every evening.
Rising early, we'd tune in the VHF to hear Miss Patti, a woman on Great Abaco who does a daily radio show that combines the marine-weather forecast and news with time for yachtie chat, when boaters call in to find friends and get or give advice on everything from where to find a good mechanic to the best happy hour. Being a boater here instantly makes you part of a friendly community, one that is always welcoming and willing to help new arrivals.
Toward the end of our trip, we dropped anchor within sight of the Abacos' iconic red-and-white striped Elbow Cay Lighthouse. Heading ashore and strolling Hope Town's narrow streets lined with colonial-style cottages draped in hibiscus and bougainvillea, the boys even discovered an interest in history. Of course, history here includes the detail that some of the original settlers made their living by luring passing ships onto the rocks so they could scavenge the cargo. The famous lighthouse was a "gift" from the Mother Country in the hope of making the Abacos safe for English ships. Some not-so-grateful locals who knew their piratical careers would disappear as soon as the light began to burn tried to sabotage the project. Thrilled to be able to touch part of such wicked history, Alex and Marlie led the charge up the 101 steps of the lighthouse.
At the top, with a view of the bustling harbor, glistening beach and Atlantic Ocean to the east, the Meltemia lying at anchor to the north and the Sea of Abaco spread out as a blanket of blue to the west, I was thankful that the lighthouse survived. And also glad that I was here seeing it with my family. In just a week, we'd seen the boys grow up and their worlds expand before our eyes. I couldn't believe how confident Alex had looked paddling a kayak in open water following a lesson from Melanie. And, after carefully watching Dave pick his way past reefs and shoals every day to find good anchorages, Marlie was now a bona-fide boat boy. "We can't go into that area," he'd said one afternoon, pointing at a shoal. "I can tell by the color of the water that it's too shallow."
My entire family had grown sea legs thanks to our Aussie crew. When we had booked the crewed charter, I was worried that sharing our vacation with a couple of total strangers was going to be awkward. But we hit it off so well that every day was a "G'day" and everyone on board was a "mate" or a "bloke." The boys had two new heroes, and far from being an uncomfortable presence, Dave and Melanie were now part of our family.
It was one of our best vacations ever, and just like a kid on a roller coaster, I wanted to do it all over again.
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