Fair warning -- this is a long report. (Also, I will post a link to my website once it's posted there, with photos.)

CAT ISLAND: NOVEMBER, 2003

We’ve been traveling the islands for over 14 years now, constantly refining our definition of the perfect land-based destination (the standards for sailing trips are necessarily different). Over the years, I’ve found three main requirements for a satisfying island vacation: a relatively secluded destination, great beaches, and unique accommodations. Beyond that, it’s all in the details.

Cat Island?

We’ve long been fans of the “Out Islands” of the Bahamas, ever since our first true experience of Island Time on Eleuthera. Subsequent repeated visits to the Abacos have cemented our appreciation. While physical proximity to the United States has made getting to some of these islands not so difficult, there was still a big psychic distance between the islands and home, which was evident in the lack of crime, the laid-back atmosphere, the slow pace, and the quaint beauty of the islands. Unspoiled by large-scale tourism, the islands are a perfect escape. However, our last trip to Abaco showed that the psychic gap was ever-so-subtly being closed: more crowded flights, lots more fishing boats coming over from Florida for the weekend, once-empty anchorages filled with boats. While we’re still in love with the Abacos – they remain my favorite sailing destination – I felt the need to go further out in the Out Islands. Cat Island fit the bill.

Cat Island is located south of Eleuthera and east of the Exuma chain, with the Atlantic Ocean crashing onto its eastern shore, and Exuma Sound lapping ashore on the west. At 46 miles long, it narrows to as little as a mile across in spots, and counts a couple thousand souls as its permanent inhabitants. Until the early part of the 20th century, Cat Island had been called “San Salvador,” laying claim to being Columbus’ first landfall in the New World. The Bahamian government later awarded the name “San Salvador” to Watling’s Island, which bore a closer resemblance to the island Columbus discovered, and renamed the former San Salvador “Cat Island.” In the 1700s, the Bahamas saw Loyalists, fleeing the American Revolutionary War, settle in the islands and attempt build an agricultural-plantation economy. While Cat Island has more topsoil and ground water than other Bahamian islands, large-scale agriculture never really took root; the abolition of slavery in the early 1800s was even more decisive. Some descendants of those early Loyalist families remain on the island, though they are outnumbered by the former slaves (many of whom also bear their names), some of whom eke out a living with small-scale farming. Regular electrical service was only extended to Cat Island 9 years ago.

Getting There and Back

Getting to Cat Island is certainly easier today than it was a dozen years ago, when small air charters or the mailboat were the way to go. Today, there is regularly scheduled air service from Ft. Lauderdale and from Nassau. Given our past experience with the Ft. Lauderdale-based carrier which serves Cat Island – Lynx Air International – we opted to fly to Nassau and use Cat Island Air (which offers daily service, while Bahamasair does not). Rumour has it that Continental/Gulfstream will soon be adding service to Cat Island, which will make arriving somewhat simpler for U.S. travelers.

Wanting to use frequent flier miles, we flew free from Washington Reagan to Nassau on American Airlines in the evening on Halloween Friday. DCA turned out to be a good jumping-off point compared to our usual departure airport, BWI, taking only a few minutes more of time on the road and a few bucks more for the limo service we use. The trade-off is a less-crowded airport, shorter lines, and less harried airline and security staff. Our flights were on time (even early) and uneventful, though the layover at MIA tested my patience the way it always does, with its usual complement of crowds, illogical design (we had to leave the secure area of Concourse E, and enter through security again at Concourse D), and non-existent food choices.

We spent Friday night at the Orange Hill Inn west of Nassau on New Providence Island, a 5 minute ride from the airport. The room was dated but clean and reasonably comfortable. The staff is very friendly and they serve a terrific breakfast for about $7 per person. The location across the street from a nice walking beach was pleasant and filled the time before our 10 a.m. flight on Cat Island Air.

The Cat Island Air flight departed out of the domestic terminal at Nassau’s airport. Departure was right on time, and the low-flying flight took us over the gorgeous Exumas to Cat Island, with our final descent right over Fernandez Bay, which would be our home. We were greeted at the airport by the manager of Fernandez Bay Village, Donna, who picked us out of the small milling group of people at New Bight International Airport’s single room with no problem whatsoever: we were the only people she didn’t know!

Our return trip was similar. The incoming Cat Island Air flight the following Saturday turned around in about 5 minutes, and got us back to Nassau right on time. We spent the entire day in Nassau (more on that later), spent the night at Orange Hill again, and returned to DCA via MIA on time and without event. With U.S. customs and immigration located in the Nassau airport (this is new to us, since we usually travel to more obscure destinations), the return trip was made that much easier. The seamless travel alone made this trip noteworthy for us, prey as we are to weather and airline snafus!!

Fernandez Bay Village and Shane’s Shack

The ride from the airport to our home for the week, Fernandez Bay Village, took all of 5 minutes. The resort is a collection of coral stone cottages and buildings, some with regular roofs and some thatched. The buildings are the centerpiece of a mile-long crescent of soft white sand bordering a crystal blue sea on the Exuma Sound side of the island. There is nary a rock or growth of sea grass on the sandy bottom to mar its perfection. At both ends of the beach are ironshore rock outcroppings. Just past the rocks at the south end of the beach is the entrance (or exit) to Bonefish Creek, which meanders through mangroves on its way to another seaside opening. The entire beach is bordered with sea grapes, palms, and casuarinas, among others; there is a majestic Norfolk pine in the courtyard between FBV’s clubhouse and the palapa bar. If this were the only beach I spent time on during this trip, I would have been happy.

The centerpiece of the resort is the large building which houses the front desk, library, kitchen, dining areas, and other gathering places of FBV. With soaring ceilings, a thatched roof, high stone walls, tile floors, and a huge fireplace, the clubhouse is also surrounded by sliding glass doors which are generally left wide open, letting in views of the sea and the breezes. The beachfront part of the building opens to a large dining patio, where most meals are eaten – as long as rain is not in the forecast. On a patio off the side of the clubhouse is a large palapa bar, which was being thatched during our week. Watching the thatchers was fascinating, as they wove fresh palmetto leaves into a roofing material that was watertight and could last 10-15 years.

A few steps along the beach beyond the palapa, past a few palms trees and a hammock, lies Shane’s Shack, an octagonal stand-alone cottage which was our home for the week. Crafted of coral stone with a high, thatched roof, Shane’s Shack is closest of all of FBV’s accommodations to the water – perhaps 10 steps, across sandy beach, to the bay’s crystal waters. Up a pair of stone stops is a patio, under roof, which runs across the front of the cottage; a pair of white-painted Adirondack chairs and a table sat right in front, waiting for us to gaze out to sea. Entry is through one of three sliding glass doors; as soon as we arrived, we turned off the AC and flung open the doors (taking care to slide the screens shut), and that’s the way they remained the rest of the week. The doors have no keys, and no need for them either, and the temperature was perfect for semi-outdoor living all week.

Inside the cottage, the floors are tiled, and there is an enormous stone chimney in the center of the room. In addition to the 3 sliding glass doors, there are two large windows, which we also left open. Half the cottage is taken up by a queen-sized four-poster bed with crisp, pale linens and a comfortable mattress. Lying in bed, we can look out the door and see the water, sunset, or moon-set. Mmmm, dreamy. The rest of the main room has a loveseat, some tables, a mini-fridge and coffee maker, and some storage for our luggage. Overhead, below the thatch, two ceiling fans whir. Behind the chimney is the door to the garden bath; it is under roof, and has a partial stone wall for modesty, but is open to the elements. The toilet is in a separate niche of its own, and the sink (accessorized with designer toiletries) and shower are in another. In theory, we could have had all manner of visitors here, but aside from the occasional “money bat” (a locally found moth, said to bring fortune to those on whose head it lands – I should be in for some big bucks…) we had no lizards or frogs inviting themselves in.

Given our style of travel and what delights us, I could not think of a more perfect place to stay.

Things Have Come a Looooong Way, Baby! Or Maybe Not...

After our morning’s travel and getting settled at FBV, the first order of business was getting something to eat. Our expectations of Bahamian food have been formed by past trips. We can count on conch and grouper, superlative Bahamian bread, and a ready supply of Kalik beer – and believe me, we’re looking forward to it! Nevertheless, Cat Island is more reminiscent of Eleuthera than the more accessible Abacos, so we also expect some challenges and limitations, both in stocking our cottage with munchies and with the types of food available for meals. After all, we’d spent a week on Eleuthera living on the requisite conch and grouper for dinners, but with lunches (which our resort did not serve) consisting of what we could find and recognize in the grocery store: Bahamian bread (man could live on that bread alone!), Underwood deviled ham spread, and cantaloupes.

Lunch at FBV was a la carte, so I went for conch chowder (accompanied by a toasted slice of nirvana) and Rick had a grouper sandwich. These choices were so satisfying that we ordered them almost every day we had lunch at FBV; after all, you just can’t get a decent (or any, for that matter) bowl of conch chowder in Maryland. After lunch, Donna took us to the supermarket, where we stocked up on canned nuts, Pringles, a hunk of cheese, some pepperoni, a few sodas, and rum (Barbancourt for me; Ron Ricardo pineapple rum for Rick). Nothing in the store suggested that we’d be doing much better than we did nearly a decade-and-a-half ago on Eleuthera. When dinner time rolled around, we were pleasantly surprised.

In the winter season, dinner starts with cocktails at 6:30. This required us to “dress” for dinner: in our case, that meant taking off wet swimsuits, showering, and putting on dry shorts and shirts. Shoes are clearly optional; I went without. The bar is an honor bar, so guests grab a beer, or mix a drink, and write it down on their tab. As we got comfortable, and met our fellow guests and resort staff, fabulous conch fritters made the rounds as well. Our first day at FBV was also the first official day FBV is open this season (another couple arrived the day before, but since they are regulars with a couple dozen visits under their belt, they didn’t really count); there are few guests – just three couples – so we all sat together at dinner, along with FBV denizens which included Donna, owners Pam and Tony Armbrister, and Pam’s father Tom. With few guests early in the season, we shared our dinner table almost every night, and enjoyed it immensely. Those who might seek more privacy could have it as well, though we had so much privacy during the day that we welcomed the easy companionship and conversation of dinners and cocktails.

Dinner was served buffet style. The first evening’s offering included grilled tenderloin (excellent quality, cooked to pink perfection), split Bahamian crawfish (lobster) tails, and assorted breads and vegetables. Dessert was chocolate cake and chocolate chip cookies, with decaf coffee. Each night, the main entrees included one seafood and one meat dish (one of which was Bahamian-style and one of which was continental in style), so most guests could find something to enjoy – if they didn’t sample everything like we did. Throughout the week, we enjoyed Bahamian chicken, grouper, curried shrimp, more lobster, lamb, and pork. While the presence and quality of the Bahamian-style foods was not a surprise, the quality of other meats (as well as the quality of available wine) was, but that’s progress for you.

Breakfast was also served buffet style. Every day, the buffet included breads, breakfast meats, boiled eggs, cereal and fresh fruit (local papaya, pineapple). There was also a featured to-order item every day, such as omelets, French toast or pancakes.

There are not a whole lot of options for dining on Cat Island, and as we didn’t venture very far during our trip, we ate most of our meals at FBV. This was not a hardship at all. For the day we spent on the beach at Fine Bay, the ladies in the kitchen at FBV prepared us a picnic lunch of BLTs on that heavenly bread, apples, and Kalik; we added Pringles for good measure. The combination of the picnic lunch, and Bahamian sand and sea, reminded us of similar (maybe even identical) feasts on other Out Island beaches. The day we had a rental car, we had lunch at the Hawk’s Nest resort at the southern end of Cat Island. We were the only guests for lunch that day, as their entire complement of 4 guests had gone elsewhere. It took a knock on the kitchen door to scare up some lunch, but it was delicious grouper in a pretty setting, so no complaints.

That same evening, we planned to eat out at a local establishment in the settlement of New Bight called the Bluebird. As is the fashion in the Out Islands, we stopped by in the morning to make a reservation – not because of the expected crowds, but to let the owners know they would have guests at all. We pre-ordered cracked conch, and when I tried to book a table for 7:00 p.m., they asked if I would consider an earlier arrival. I was more than happy to oblige, since we’d been falling asleep around 9 every night, and an early dinner fit right into that schedule. When we arrived at the appointed time, our hostesses were ready for us, and seated us at a modest table in the modest linoleum floored room. Delicious spicy beef-vegetable soup preceded nearly fork-tender conch. The only other guests were another threesome from FBV – since no one was staying for dinner that night, FBV’s kitchen had the night off.

It’s All About the People

Aside from our appealing surroundings and the lovely beach which was our home base, what made Fernandez Bay Village so special was the people – both our hosts and the other guests. Our arrival early in the season ensured that the resort was not busy, adding a layer of laid-back on top of already-laid-back.

The other guests we encountered were an eclectic crew, ranging from a couple who had been visiting FBV every year for 25 years (and owners of an enviable collection of glass fish floats, for which they’d scoured Cat Island’s beaches over those same 25 years), to a couple from New England who left behind the businesses they owned and ran for two weeks, to a newly married pair from the Pacific Northwest making a repeat visit to FBV (the husband being an avid fisherman). The only common ingredient we seemed to share was our choice of island destination, but we never lacked for conversation at dinner or over drinks.

Owners Pam and Tony were always around. Every morning, while sipping coffee on our porch, we watched Tony make the arduous (not!) commute from his house down the beach to the resort. Naturally, we envied the heck out of him, but we’ve read Don’t Stop the Carnival (and have an island hotelier in the family), and know better than to think it’s all sun and sand and pina coladas for the owners of an island resort – notwithstanding the fact that Tony is a descendant of an old Loyalist family which has a history in the Bahamas of more than two centuries. Besides Pam and Tony, other members of their family would pop in and out of the scene over the course of the week – Pam’s father Tom taking us for a dinghy ride, aunt Judy offering to take us to play dominoes at a local bar, son Shane coming home from school in the US for a weekend.

Leading the rest of the FBV crew was manager Donna, always bustling around and full of energy, making guests feel welcome. We could always tell when Donna arrived for her work day (her house was also down the beach, on the creek) when her dog Bennie bounded onto the beach. Donna’s laugh was never far behind. Rocky, the troubadour of FBV, never got to perform for us (was it my volunteering to join him on Brown Eyed Girl that scared him off?), but kept us entertained at the bar with tales of his own travels. The kitchen ladies were ever-amused with us, as we found ourselves instinctively bussing our dishes at breakfast and lunch, since we felt so at home here.

Above all, our week was about personal attention, though it was never obtrusive or obsequious. It was more a matter of listening (or watching) us when we talked, and getting a sense of what we wanted or needed. When we expressed an interest in the gorgeous yacht anchored in the bay, the next day found Tom taking us over by dinghy for a visit and tour. When we wanted to explore an Atlantic beach, Donna not only took us over, but arranged for our picnic lunch. When Rick had a crick in his neck, or I was scratching madly from no-see-um bites, Donna and Pam were there with their favorite remedies.

As the week wore on, we found ourselves lingering ever-longer over dinner. One night, over seemingly bottomless glasses of red wine, Tony and Rick and I sat around solving the problems of the Bahamas. That glass of red wine came back to haunt me in the middle of the night, when my no-see-um bites and red wine headache nudged me out of bed and into the water, the saltwater being the only surefire remedy. Even as my head pounded, I looked around myself in awe, as a nearly full moon reflected off the bay and illuminated the night with its silvery light. As I came back to bed, I woke Rick up to share in the sight, doing so with a hushed voice so as not to break the spell. I hoped to stay up long enough to watch the moon set, but it was not to be. The next night at dinner, I paid a little more attention to Tony and that wine bottle…

The Beaches … Oh The Beaches

For me, an island vacation is all about the beaches. Cat Island not only met my requirements (just with the few beaches we did manage to visit, barely touching the wide range of beaches circling the island), it exceeded them. Fernandez Bay’s beach was lovely enough, but the others were equally enchanting – and uninhabited to boot.

Our first venture was by ocean kayak, south past Fernandez Bay, past two tiny sandy coves, ‘round Naked Point, to Skinny Dip Beach. Get the picture? This beach can only be accessed by boat, as it is cut off from the island by Bonefish Creek. Embraced by ironshore outcroppings, and backed by more coral rock, the beach was about 50 yards long. White sand, crystal blue water, and no one here but us. Although there were rocks along the water’s edge, there were clear spots from which we could make our way into the warm, buoyant sea, for swimming as well as for snorkeling around Naked Point (decent snorkeling, but not spectacular). We liked this beach so much, we returned for a second visit, despite the energy required to paddle over and despite our general state of indolence.

On another day, we tackled kayaking Bonefish Creek for the promise of another beach at its outlet. The creek divides into channels and dead ends, meandering through the mangroves; we were told to keep going right, and eventually caught on to a rudimentary system of channel markings that kept us from going too far astray. Though we didn’t know how far we had to go, when we heard the sound of open water, and felt the slight resistance of current, we knew we didn’t have far to go. Before we reached Exuma Sound, we found an area of small dunes and beaches in the creek itself, as well as sand bars at low tide. We beached the kayak and explored, finding lots of tiny shells. With the sun shining on the crystal water and white sand, the effect was dazzling.

Later, we exited the creek and found ourselves on a small, rock strewn beach facing Exuma Sound. Alone again. The water was shallow and the bottom sandy, not reaching waist depth until some distance beyond the beach. As we waded in the warm water, I heard a telltale crunch underfoot that could only mean one thing: sand dollars! We ran back to the beach, grabbed our snorkels and masks (fins not required in such shallow, buoyant waters), and started diving for sand dollars, scoring a dozen fine specimens, leaving the live ones alone. This was not great snorkeling in the traditional sense, but it was as fun as a treasure hunt. Alas, only 7 sand dollars survived the trip home; it would have been a better count had our carry-on bags not been checked luggage on the Cat Island Air flight home.

Mid-week, we made our big excursion to Fine Bay, on the Atlantic Ocean side of Cat Island. The day did not look promising, and it rained all morning. But we were determined to go to the beach, having heard about its pink sand splendor, and finally took off in the FBV van with Donna around 11. We drove a few miles north on paved roads, then turned off onto a sand track, bumping and grinding along for a few more miles. We passed farm plots growing corn and papayas, and some houses under construction, but that gave way to lush vegetation, green and dense and fragrant, as the track grew rougher and bumpier. Finally, we reached a grassy clearing just big enough for the van to turn around on, and faced a tall dune covered in sea grapes. The roar of the ocean told us we were at the right place.

We scrambled over the top of the dune, then climbed and slid and skidded down it to the wide, flat, hard-packed pink beach which ran for miles. Again, not a soul in sight, though it wasn’t an especially inspiring day for it. There was a stiff onshore breeze, and rain clouds gathering on the southeastern horizon. Nevertheless, we gamely planted a beach umbrella, parked our cooler, and hit the sand. Like most other windward beaches in the Bahamian archipelago, the brush along the bottom of the dunes was littered with flotsam and jetsam. Long ago, I learned that this “garbage” is not evidence of the islanders’ lack of care, but evidence of how all humans are contributing to trashing the seas, as most of it comes from ships way offshore. Like our search for sand dollars, combing through the flotsam can also be a treasure hunt. Our fellow guests had found a trove of glass fish floats on these beaches over the years (I found a pair of aluminum ones, which I didn’t bother picking up), and Tony had told of finding bottles with messages in them from foreign shores.

Our treasure hunting was short-lived, as the rain squalls started rolling in. But rather than hide under the umbrella, which offered meager protection anyway, we decided to go swimming. We were getting wet from the rain, and the seawater was warmer than the rain, so why not? Seas were in the 6-8 foot range as they crashed onto the outer reef, but by the time the reef was done with them, were in the 2-4 foot range as they came onto the beach. They would have been ideal for body-surfing had there been more sandy area to ride them, but the bottom changed from sand to flat coral rock only a few steps in. I rode the waves anyway; it just wasn’t an especially long ride. Still, it was an exhilarating afternoon.

In stark contrast to the crashing surf of Fine Bay was the last of the beaches we had a chance to explore. On the day we rented a car, Donna annotated a map for us, pointing out some of the great beaches. The directions she provided were along the lines of “when you get to the high school in the settlement, make the first right onto an unpaved road; go past the community clinic, through the mangroves; as you get to the graveyard, turn either left or right.” We did just that in the settlement of Old Bight, and were richly rewarded. Just beyond the casuarinas glittered a breathtaking swath of beach on Exuma Sound. Several miles long, with only a house or two on it, this slice of perfection rivaled the most beautiful beaches we’ve seen in all of our travels to the islands, including Providenciales’ Grace Bay. Of course, one would only like this beach if they prefer their beaches free of all-inclusive resorts, jetski concessions, and hair-braiding vendors. Powdery white sand, gin-clear water lapping lazily ashore with nary a rock or clump of weed to mar it, and the hush of the wind ruffling pine needles. We would have lingered forever, had an ominous black wall of clouds (and the prospect of happy hour) not driven us back into our car and back to FBV.

Mystical Cat Island

If one is a beach-o-phile, the beaches of Cat Island would keep you occupied and happy for days. The number, variety and quality of the island’s strands is amazing, and I’m certain that I would not have found all that perfection tedious or boring for weeks. Yet there is much more to Cat Island than what greets you at her shores. While we only scratched the surface, it is clear that the island has a certain mystique.

The island’s iconic feature is The Hermitage. Architect-priest, Father Jerome, whose works can be found throughout the Bahamas, built a miniature monastery, modeled after one in Italy, atop Cat Island’s Mt. Alvernia, the highest point in the Bahamas at 206 feet. Because of its perfect proportions, the Hermitage does not appear, from the bottom of Mt. Alvernia, to be anything less than normal sized. It is only when one when reaches the top of the hill that the diminutive size is revealed.

Starting from a rock-strewn dirt road, we began the climb. The point at which trees begin to arch over the trail is where the path grows steeper and narrower. A huge spider web, with an appropriately impressive spider (5 inches across), forms an archway over the rocky path. As we climbed, we found precarious steps (too small for my foot to rest securely) carved out of the rock, lined with chiseled depictions of the Stations of the Cross. At the top, we were treated to panoramic views of Cat Island, as well as the Atlantic Ocean to the east and Exuma Sound to the west.

The miniature scale of the Hermitage was evident when Rick (who is just over 6’) stood next to an archway, which he needed to duck under to pass. The stories as to the reason for the scale of the Hermitage vary. Some suggest that Father Jerome was merely a very short man, and that the scale suited his own diminutive size. Others suggest that being forced to bend, and crouch, and duck, was part of the penance Father Jerome was serving. The hard, crude wooden pallet in Father Jerome’s sleeping quarters tends to favor the penance explanation.

In any event, the site more than adequately elicits the feeling of an Italian monastery, and has the appropriate aura of calm and meditation. At the same time, one cannot escape the fact that the Hermitage is as well suited to its location in the Bahamas as the Mediterranean. The rock from which the Hermitage is built is coral; the bougainvillea that trails over the structures is glowing pink; the remaining paint on the wooden doors and shutters is turquoise; and the bugs and snakes that are found atop Mt. Alvernia are decidedly tropical (thanks to Judy for recommending bug spray!).

After our climb up and down Mt. Alvernia, we used our rental car to drive around the southern part of Cat Island. On this sparsely populated island, every encounter with another person is an event, albeit a minor one. Every car or person we passed issued a greeting, if only a wave, but they all seemed heartfelt and not perfunctory. Everywhere we looked, the past mingled with the present. Ruins of old plantation houses are scattered around the island, as well as the more modest, tiny ruined homes of freed slaves. The old ruins are not always easy to distinguish from homes-in-progress, especially ones built of stone. Since islanders don’t often borrow money, homes get built piecemeal, as money, materials and manpower become available. It’s not uncommon to see foundations, or skeletal structures of homes, seemingly abandoned – while they are merely waiting for the next infusion of capital or effort.

We paid a visit to the Hawk’s Nest resort at the southern end of the island. It is located next to a private airstrip and has a marina as well. Notwithstanding the easy access, the resort was empty of guests when we arrived, as the two couples visiting that week were off exploring. As seems to be the style on Cat Island, the resort had a central clubhouse, with an honor bar as its centerpiece. The spaces are attractive, painted in saturated sunny colors like curry and terra cotta. We had a nice lunch, and an interesting chat with one of the resident managers.

Beyond our one day with a rental car – a fairly costly undertaking, at $75 a day for an older car of unknown provenance and unfamiliar marque – most of our activities were water based.

When Tom took us on a dinghy ride to visit the boat anchored in the bay, Geronimo, we got to watch high-school-aged kids living out the dream Rick and I are saving, perhaps, for retirement. Geronimo is a sail training vessel, a 70+ foot custom sloop designed by Ted Hood with elegant lines and a blue hull. It is owned by a prep school in New England, and is occupied by 9 students and a crew of 3 adults, who sailed from the U.S. to the Bahamas, and are now slowly plying Bahamian waters. As they learn to sail, they also observe the environment and pay special attention to such species as sea turtles. Rick and Tom got a tour of the boat, and came away duly impressed (and jealous); I stayed in our dinghy, as I didn’t trust my tennis-elbow-impaired arm to pull me aboard, as the boat had no boarding ladder.

Bonefish Creek provided especially rich waters for exploration, and we paddled by kayak several times. The water is remarkably clear, and has a sandy bottom, providing for a blue-green color. When we weren’t on a mission to get somewhere, we slowly paddled among the mangroves, taking care to be quiet and not disturb the water. Although we didn’t notice many birds (it was not the season for them), our efforts were rewarded by sightings of rays, sharks, and plenty of juvenile fish. A couple of FBV’s other guests had had the extraordinary experience of having seen a whale shark in the creek during a spring visit some years ago.

We also kayaked to a couple of snorkeling spots in Fernandez Bay itself. About halfway out the bay, there is a large rock formation teeming with coral and sea life. Since we weren’t able to secure our kayak especially well (the anchor line barely reached the sandy spots on the bottom, much less providing any scope), our visit there was fairly abbreviated. Outside the Bay, there is a small cay – it turned out to be much further away than it looked! The snorkeling here was not as good as at the rock, and we soon discovered that once we were no longer in the lee of Fernandez Bay, there was also quite a bit of chop. Our return journey to the beach was a tough, wet slog against current and wind, with waves regularly breaking over us.

While we certainly engaged in plenty of physical activity, much of our time was spent relaxing. On our comfortable porch. In the beach chairs. And on a float, bobbing around in the stunning water. Days took on a comfortable rhythm of rising with the sun, coffee and breakfast, some morning activity, lunch, more activity, then winding down with cocktails on our patio and at the beach bar – accented as it was most days with a lovely sunset, with dinner to cap things off. Sleep usually followed at a relatively early hour.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

For each of life’s sweet experiences, it’s almost required that something put a little chink in it, so as to highlight the perfection of everything else. For us, who seem to court travel disasters at every turn, the small nature of my complaint is almost laughable. And it is small. Tiny even. Almost invisible. It’s the dreaded no-see-ums.

When we stopped by to visit Mike Houghton of Sail Abaco at the Annapolis Boat Show this fall, we told him we were headed for Cat Island. His advice: watch out for the bugs. (I found this particularly amusing, because the implication was that Abaco has no bugs; since I’m still bearing the scars of being eaten alive there last year, I know better).

Our arrival on Cat Island was on a breezy day, so the awful little critters were held at bay for a day or so. We got lazy and complacent, so the first evening after the wind died down, we sat on our porch, sipping rum drinks and watching the sunset, unwittingly feeding the ravenous hordes. It was not til it was too late that I thought to apply insect repellent, and by then, the damage was done. (Thereafter, between my conscientious applications of DEET and spraying at FBV, I probably didn’t get many new bites). Just as I am a magnet for travel challenges, my flesh is ambrosia to biting insects – within a few days, I was covered with madly itching bumps, with my ankles, shins and the backs of my legs being the most afflicted zones. Topical cortisone cream, Benadryl, and other remedies only worked a little. Liberal dousing with seawater provided the best relief (while using the beach like sandpaper was the most satisfying, if the worst, for me).

We survived the attack of the no-see-ums fairly well, and the occasional manic scratching session barely disrupted one of our best vacation weeks ever.

The other experience which, by its sharp contrast, brought our Cat Island idyll into crisper focus, was the day we spent on New Providence (Nassau) en route home. Our visit there was not bad; it merely demonstrated what our travel style is not. We landed in Nassau before noon, and on a whim, decided to get a rental car – a very efficient process with Avis. We quickly drove to Orange Hill, deposited our bags, and headed off for exploration. We had a terrific lunch of Bahamian food at the Poop Deck (the location just west of Cable Beach). Yet, even as we sat outside at water’s edge, eating conch and grouper and sipping Kalik, it felt like we were in Miami and not the Bahamas. The setting was near a shopping arcade and lots of stucco timeshare condos; powerboats buzzed by constantly; here and there, we saw paragliders and windsurfers; and in the distance, the huge structures of Paradise Island loomed.

We never did get to see Cable Beach – at least not the beach itself. Condos and hotels line the shore, cheek by jowl, and are barricaded behind impressive stone walls and gates. A casual visitor can’t get past that. All are attractively maintained and lushly landscaped, but it looks like some affluent suburb of an American city, and not another country.

Soon, we were in downtown Nassau. We got past the throngs of cruise ship passengers (3 mammoth ships were in port), turned of Bay Street, and found a parking spot on Parliament Street, across the street from – appropriately enough – the beautiful Parliament building. There seem to be many old, historically significant buildings in this old port city, but it would take some effort to get past the dross. And we, too, admittedly, were looking to shop. We were hoping to find some locally made gifts for the people who were taking care of things for us at home, but this turned out to be more difficult than expected. The famed “Straw Market,” housed in temporary quarters, is a dark, claustrophobic, smoke-filled space filled with herds of tourists and merchants hawking cheap goods (4 for $10 tee-shirts, Bob Marley (uh, he’s from Jamaica) memorabilia, and rayon batik from Indonesia) that have little to do with the Bahamas. At the other end of the spectrum, the high-end duty free shops peddle baubles from anyplace other than the Bahamas (admittedly, I picked up a trinket…). At the end of our efforts, we finally found a single store selling Androsia batiks (made in Andros) where we bought a lovely set of napkins, and bought a bottle of Nassau Royale (a vanilla scented liqueur) at a liquor store.

[Just one thought for the cruise ship passengers: what on earth makes some of them think it’s OK to walk down a city’s streets in a swimsuit and flip flops?]

Having had our fill of shopping, we drove onto Paradise Island. The prominent feature here is the Atlantis complex. It’s so huge and pink and overwrought as to look like a mirage. It didn’t seem to invite exploration. As we drove around the manicured and developed island, we experienced the same feeling we got in Cable Beach: no way to find the water. We didn’t feel like trying too hard, so we drove off the island and started heading back towards Orange Hill. Before returning to the inn, we continued on the road towards the west, but except for a glimpse or two of the ocean, a sighting of the colorful roofs of Compass Point (behind a fence), and more gated homes and communities, our impression of the New Providence coastline remained unchanged.

Our transition back to real life was completed not at the airport, but at our dinner destination, Café Johnny Canoe. Located at a big hotel on Cable Beach (that should have been our first clue), it felt like nothing so much as an American chain restaurant (think Bennigan’s) with a few Bahamian items on the menu and otherwise unremarkable food. After a week of living on Island Time, the servers’ speed at turning tables was dizzying. At least we had the homey touch of breakfast at Orange Hill, and the classically island experience of looking for gas for our rental car only to find the chosen gas station closed on Sunday, before heading for the big, busy Nassau airport and our journey home.

Closing Thoughts

After years of island travel, we have found near perfection on Cat Island. The island itself is beautiful, rustic, and remote. Staying at Fernandez Bay Village felt like being a cherished houseguest at the home of good friends – except that we should all be so lucky as to have friends with beautiful homes in such lovely surroundings. The beaches: perfection. And so much more to discover and explore. As long as we are not sailing, we are sure to return to Cat Island and Fernandez Bay Village. And if it requires a stay over in Nassau, I think somehow we’ll survive it.