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!
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