Well, we certainly made a day of our first run out of the barn. After our short hop around from the boatyard to White Sound on Friday, we realized that our best weather window for crossing ‘the whale’ – a short passage that is often pretty junky due to its lack of barrier island to the east- was in fact the next morning. We enjoyed our first night aboard thoroughly, and it was Friday night movie night, so after refreshing Lily on cribbage and having her whoop our butts, we endured the skipping and skipping of old DVDs and an even older DVD player (put that on the 2021 upgrade list) in our familiar spots in the salon. Plus, popcorn as a major component of dinner, which I’ll suffer through disc skippage any day for.
An early morning and an easy crossing (though the girls were not too pleased with the swells and chop), we made it to Marsh Harbour by lunchtime. A year ago it was difficult to find a spot to anchor in the harbor, it was so packed with dozens of boats. This time, it was a breeze, since we were one of only six. Andy waited for a dinghy to return to one of our neighbors’ boats and pounced on them for access information, as the usual docks and dinghy floats were far from gone. We learned of our one option, and went ashore with jaws on the ground. Partially sunken boats around the edges and in the harbor itself, pilings shredded off, leaning over, floating in piles, electrical and water conduit from the docks tangled and floating in gnarly masses.. looking just at the damage in the water was enough. And then we stepped ashore. I’ll let the photos do the talking, but consider that these are taken five months later, with considerable cleanup action taken (of the roadways, etc.). It’s mind-bending to consider what it looked like the day after, and nauseating to imagine what it felt like to live through it.
On that note, we are all interested to hear the personal stories of survival, but I had originally felt quite timid about asking people that I talk to. Do they want to relive the horror for the sake of a near-stranger’s ‘context bank’? Are they ready to talk about it? Do they remember, or was it a blur? It turns out, the answer has been a resounding ‘yes’. When we spend any amount of time with people (cab drivers, shopkeepers, and so on), I’ve been asking how they’re doing, and if their families and homes are okay. What has come as an answer every time is a detailed account of the state of those things, but also where they were when the storm hit, and the timeline of everything falling apart around them (most often the very walls that were to protect them). Moving from one place to another in the eye (which went over Marsh) for safety, rescuing friends and family from flooded spaces, the stories are varied but the theme is the same. Surviving a Category 5 hurricane and living to tell the tale means that you have one hell of a tale to tell, and it turns out, they want to share. I’ve been told a number of times now that Bahamians are never afraid of storms, and that they weren’t particularly afraid of this one, either. Sure, it’d blow, but they’d all lived through Floyd (a Cat 4), and came outside afterward to see a few roof shingles damaged and some trees down. That’s what a lot of people expected. When windows blew out and people moved into the safest rooms in their houses, they still didn’t think it’d be much more than water damage. One story after another expressing the total shock and awe of stepping outside for the first time after it passed.
This is all to say that our context bank is indeed growing, and stitching these stories together makes us feel more connected to their plight and also extreme incredulity of the ‘plugging away’ spirit. In every community we’ve been to so far, at least one market is open, the liquor stores are open (duh!), services are rounded-out if not comprehensive, and they’re making their way. What a process to experience.
Marsh’s big provisioning trip aside, we weren’t thrilled at the idea of waiting out the next blow there with so little to do with the kids ashore, so we made quick work of stowing our bounty and shoved off for Hope Town. A quick trip, and once again we have our pick of the harbor, since there are so few boats here. More loss and carnage visible here, but a safe harbor and beautiful beaches flanking the village that we love.
I’m currently living the experience that I wait ten months every year for- sitting in the cockpit as the world wakes up around me, coffee in its spot at my elbow, and a book to read. Must get to the reading bit. Happy Sunday, everyone!