OK – so we hear there’s a wicked cold front on the way, and we’ve been bouncing at anchor all night. “Let’s find a hurricane hole for tonight” we agree. (Even sailors get tired of the constant motion at times). Jeff locates a place called Cave Cay, and I call to reserve a slip at the marina (no anchoring there).
“Wai shor y’all” responds the decidedly Texan voice at the other end of the VHF radio. So off we go – 14 miles, and we enter this gorgeous little harbor – protected on all sides, and sidle up to a set of brand-new floating docks – the 5th boat there. Two large trawlers belong to guests from the southern states, who motored in together. Turns out the other two large power boats belong to the Texan owners – Steve Senior and Steve Junior – the only residents on this deserted Island, along with their five German Shepherds.
Steve Senior, complete with Texan cowboy hat and accompanied by the 5 dogs crowded into a dune buggy-type vehicle, greets us and shows us around. “That there’s the airplane runway … you can walk along it to the beach, but stay to the side in case a plane wants to land” he warns us. “But don’t worry, it’s mostly our own planes that come here, and I don’t expect one today”. Then he starts his vehicle with a screwdriver and putters off to continue to develop his resort-to-be.
I check out the laundry room – 4 washing machines, and no dryer; the washroom and showers (not too bad …), and then we walk the airstrip to the beach – an iconically deserted, white-sand picture perfect little strip on the turquoise ocean, sparkling in the setting sunlight. That’s it – the whole island – except for the several buildings under construction for the last 8 years, which will eventually provide expensive accommodation for those seeking complete and utter isolation.
So tonight we sit at a dock, with not a shred of movement, in this perfectly protected marina. I really hope we get a whale of a storm – it would make the outrageous docking fee here worth it!