Bahamas Immersion

But am I cruising? Or doing something else?

This was the view from my porch (cockpit) yesterday morning, anchored in George Town in the southern Exumas. There is no shortage of beauty deep in the Bahamas. Here is what I saw after sunset at Farmer’s Cay on my way here:

If you like gin-clear, aquamarine water, sparkling in the sun, there is plenty of that:

Oh, and the sailing can be pretty phenomenal as well:

In short, in the weeks that I have traveled through the Bahamas from north to south I have confirmed for myself something that so many others already knew: the Bahamas are an amazing, and extraordinary seascape, with countless cays to explore, inhabited by a friendly and joyful culture. I can barely begin to take Laughing Gull to all the places I would like to go before the end of March, when I intend to sail back to the United States. Already, I know I want to return next winter instead of going to the Caribbean, because there is much more that is new to me here.

I am now holed up in the vast natural harbor off George Town that is formed by Great Exuma island to the west, and Stocking Island to the east. George Town is a prime destination for cruisers, many of whom spend months here. A recent count estimates there are close to 400 boats spread throughout the different anchorages. It is a ginormous and very friendly floating community, with a daily radio net that welcomes new arrivals and conveys all the news and events of the day, and a multitude of organized activities, from volleyball, to water aerobics and yoga, to poker and euchre games. Many drop anchor early each winter, and don’t leave until late in the spring. It feels a bit too much like a retirement community to me, and I’ll be getting back to exploring the Exumas later this week. But I can understand why it is what it is.

Encountering so many cruisers here in George Town, and along the way, has had me pondering a question: am I cruising on Laughing Gull, with the same interests and priorities (snorkeling, beaches, partying, restaurants, etc) as I might have if I was on an extended sailboat charter? Or am I doing something different? The reason this question arose is that I have found myself slightly detached—even indifferent—from the general focus of most of the boats I encounter on where to go and what to do.

Chat N’ Chill Beach bar: where cruisers gather for cruiser activities.

Luckily, on a boat there is plenty of time to stare at the horizon and ponder questions like “What the hell am I doing"?” And my answer is that I am not cruising on a sailboat, I am living on a sailboat. Sure, I swim, and paddleboard. I played volleyball the other day. I may even go snorkeling. But simply doing cruiser things all the time would be too much like conventional retirement, the equivalent of playing golf every day (just shoot me now). I want to keep writing. I want to keep helping develop documentary film projects, I want to continue to dig into projects that interest me and have nothing to do with sailing.

Those were also my goals in recent years, but I felt stymied and unproductive. The theory which transported me aboard Laughing Gull was that I would feel more inspired, and have more energy to create, if I rewired my life into a radically different configuration: one that was simpler (and hopefully with a smaller environmental footprint), and also immersed me in the ocean environment which brings me so much peace, meaning and joy. It was a change that impacted everyone around me, so it was not at all a casual decision. Instead, it was a choice I felt compelled to make to re-animate myself for the years ahead.

So that’s my answer. I am not really a traditional cruiser. I am a traditional human, pursuing projects I hope are meaningful and worthwhile, who happens to live at the moment in a small, studio apartment with fantastic views that can also, to my immense pleasure, be sailed from one place to another.

I’ll close with a Mary Oliver poem, called The Journey, that I just happened across this week. I don’t feel I am journeying away from the need to save other lives, but I do feel I am journeying away from convention and a culture that is full of bad advice and is headed in a bad direction. And, indeed, that feels like saving my own life:

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Since I have never really described my studio apartment before, here is a photo gallery:

Laughing Gull Spaces

An Alternative Alternative Lifestyle: Life as a polar bear.

Moment Of Zen: Share the wave. A good planetary metaphor. (click on image)…

surfline

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