Crooked Island

This morning we cruised up the east side of Crooked Island to Landrail Point,on the way we trailed a couple of lines and managed to catch two (inedible) baracuda and a (very edible) grouper. We landed on the beach at Landrail Point and asked about someone who could give us a car tour of the island. Eventually we connected with one, though it took a while. Everything is on island time, which tends to be a bit flexible. The island is fairly large, with a population of a couple of hundred people. It’s very pretty in a tropical island fashion, with lots of mangroves and palms, quaint houses, and friendly people.

They have a local custom of putting up shelters, sponsored by the government, that are roofed patios, sometimes with benches built around the edges. These are amazingly welcome when the sun gets hot, and sitting on a bench, in the shade with a sea breeze can just make your day. We shared one with some workmen and their dog while we were waiting for a car and had a leisurely and pleasant conversation. Two of them were on a crew to fix the road, and were on their lunch break. A couple of them were just “chilling”. Those two were arguing about nothing much at all, which provided a good show when nobody had anything else to say. One, from Nassau, was both an outsider and drunk, while the other was local and stoned. I could sit for hours listening to their accents. I only understood about half of the words, but it sounded wonderful! Donna gave the dog some water and made a friend for life.

We got tired of waiting and wandered over to a restaurant for lunch. Of course we couldn’t have any right away, because the owner was “at the airplane” and the person who was there couldn’t serve lunch until she returned. We got her to serve us some iced tea (Crystal Light) and eventually the driver found us. We asked him to join us for iced tea, which he did, and eventually he agreed to return for us in about 45 minutes. Lunch was pretty good, and we eventually got on our way. Actually, the lady running the resturant was quite personable, and even asked for a picture of the Roseate, which I am going to send her shortly. If I say anything wrong here, and she reads it, I hope that she’s charitable.

The road (there was only one main road) was definitely in need of the repairs that our friends were working on, and went around the whole island. It was “That’s where cousin Willie works, that’s the Anglican Church, where my mother preaches. That’s the Baptist Church. That’s the Ferry landing. And so on. Our next to last stop was a house on a hill top with great view of both sides of the island. It turned out to belong to our stoned friend from the shelter, who greeted us like old buddies.

We got back to Landrail Point and continued up to Pitts Town, an area that is being turned into a luxury resort. The first postoffice in the Bahamas is still there, sortoff. You can find its walls incorporated as inner walls in the bar. Jimmy Buffet was also staying there, and his seaplane, an old Grumman Goose, was on the landing strip. Now we understood the plane we saw the previous night. We also got a distant view of Bird Rock Light.

Back to French Wells for the night. We had the baracuda from the trip up, and Charlie and Donna were anxious to try chumming the water for snapper. We did catch some, though the only thing I hooked was a shark who broke the line. I’m afraid that I really have no enthusiasm for fishing as an action, though I’m quite ready to eat them, and it only seems prudent to drop a line while cruising. Mostly, holding a pole bores me.


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