Allans Cay
Although it’s only about 30 miles southeast
from Nassau as the crow flies, the direct
route to Allans Cay passes right over the
Yellow Bank, a shallow area of shifting sand
ridges and numerous coral heads. While
navigable with careful lookout, we elected
to chart a dogleg course, running due
south from the east end of Nassau Harbor
until we’d cleared the Bank, then turning
east to Allans Cay, which added about 2
hours to our travel time but which paid off in
peace of mind.
Although it’s only about 30 miles southeast
from Nassau as the crow flies, the direct
route to Allans Cay passes right over the
Yellow Bank, a shallow area of shifting sand
ridges and numerous coral heads. While
navigable with careful lookout, we elected
to chart a dogleg course, running due
south from the east end of Nassau Harbor
until we’d cleared the Bank, then turning
east to Allans Cay, which added about 2
hours to our travel time but which paid off in
peace of mind.
Allans Cay is one of the northernmost
islands of the Exumas, a 95-mile chain of
small, mostly-uninhabited islands and reefs
that runs southeast to Great Exuma,
forming the eastern edge of the Great
Bahamas Bank and fronting the deep water
Exuma Sound. With the Abacos to the
islands of the Exumas, a 95-mile chain of
small, mostly-uninhabited islands and reefs
that runs southeast to Great Exuma,
forming the eastern edge of the Great
Bahamas Bank and fronting the deep water
Exuma Sound. With the Abacos to the
north, which we skipped on our trip, it’s one of the two most popular cruising grounds in the Bahamas. Our plan is to
spend one to two weeks island hopping down to George Town, on Great Exuma, the next real provisioning stop and
our jumping off point for the southern Bahamas and far reaches.
Allans Cay is actually a group of three cays that form a reasonably protected bay, albeit with a strong tidal flow of
water on and off the Bank. More significantly, Allans Cay is home to the primary herd of true iguanas (genus: iguana
species: iguana) remaining in the world. Indigenous to, and once prolific throughout the Bahamas, these beasts were
hunted almost to extinction by the hungry Europeans after their arrival in the 15th century. (They also featured
prominently, with Raquel Welch, in the movie One Million Years BC, in the mid-20th century.) Interestingly, although it
undoubtedly tastes just like chicken, the native Arawaks never developed a taste for iguana. That the Europeans
would dine greedily on something at which the native cannibals turned up their noses tells you something about the
gastronomic sensibilities of the invaders.
Also in Allans Cay, while snorkling we saw our first shark in the wild, a 5 foot nurse shark hiding out underneath some
wreckage. Live conch abounds, but we decided to not harvest any since our confidence in our ability to extract and
clean one is, well, less-than-zero. Like oysters on the half shell, I think that conch is one of those foods whose
preparation is best left to a professional.
Allans Cay was our first experience as a family anchoring in an undeveloped bay. Shortly after dark -- a moonless
night -- Dianne commented "Wow ... look at all those fireflies out there ... I didn't know they lived out here!" ...
referring, of course, to the anchor lights at the mastheads of the other boats, swaying back and forth.
spend one to two weeks island hopping down to George Town, on Great Exuma, the next real provisioning stop and
our jumping off point for the southern Bahamas and far reaches.
Allans Cay is actually a group of three cays that form a reasonably protected bay, albeit with a strong tidal flow of
water on and off the Bank. More significantly, Allans Cay is home to the primary herd of true iguanas (genus: iguana
species: iguana) remaining in the world. Indigenous to, and once prolific throughout the Bahamas, these beasts were
hunted almost to extinction by the hungry Europeans after their arrival in the 15th century. (They also featured
prominently, with Raquel Welch, in the movie One Million Years BC, in the mid-20th century.) Interestingly, although it
undoubtedly tastes just like chicken, the native Arawaks never developed a taste for iguana. That the Europeans
would dine greedily on something at which the native cannibals turned up their noses tells you something about the
gastronomic sensibilities of the invaders.
Also in Allans Cay, while snorkling we saw our first shark in the wild, a 5 foot nurse shark hiding out underneath some
wreckage. Live conch abounds, but we decided to not harvest any since our confidence in our ability to extract and
clean one is, well, less-than-zero. Like oysters on the half shell, I think that conch is one of those foods whose
preparation is best left to a professional.
Allans Cay was our first experience as a family anchoring in an undeveloped bay. Shortly after dark -- a moonless
night -- Dianne commented "Wow ... look at all those fireflies out there ... I didn't know they lived out here!" ...
referring, of course, to the anchor lights at the mastheads of the other boats, swaying back and forth.
Highborne Cay
Highborne Cay is a three mile long private island, home to a small marina, a few small houses, and the Research
Institute of Bahamian Stromatolites (RIBS). You may well ask “what is a stromatolite, and why does it deserve its own
research institute, even if it is located at an out-of-the-way place like Highborne Cay?” Well, stromatolites are,
apparently, one of the oldest fossils on earth, a primitive form of coral dating back three billion years, give or take.
They underlie many of the world’s coral reefs, forming the foundation upon which more esthetically evolved corals
build. And (this is the interesting part), the Bahamas is one of the only places in the world where there are actual
living, breathing(?) stomatolites! Hence, the Research Institute. We walked to the main beach on the island where
these fascinating creatures abound and, while cute, they’re not as interesting or fun to watch as the sea otters at the
San Diego Zoo. In fact, they look a lot like rounded, white rocks.
At Highborne Cay our brand-new, high-output, engine-driven alternator got red hot, started smoking, and basically
gave up the ghost. With it went our refrigeration capabilities, as well as the kids' ability to play video games. Luckily,
our batteries are charged from shore power, we can buy ice at the marina here, and we have an ample supply of
books. So, we’ll strike out for our next stop, the Exuma Land and Sea Park on Warderick Wells, then on to Staniel
Cay, where (we hope) a replacement alternator and voltage regulator will await us, courtesy of our shore side parts
supplier, trip planner and weather maven, Capt. Pam Lendzion of St. Augustine.
Highborne Cay is a three mile long private island, home to a small marina, a few small houses, and the Research
Institute of Bahamian Stromatolites (RIBS). You may well ask “what is a stromatolite, and why does it deserve its own
research institute, even if it is located at an out-of-the-way place like Highborne Cay?” Well, stromatolites are,
apparently, one of the oldest fossils on earth, a primitive form of coral dating back three billion years, give or take.
They underlie many of the world’s coral reefs, forming the foundation upon which more esthetically evolved corals
build. And (this is the interesting part), the Bahamas is one of the only places in the world where there are actual
living, breathing(?) stomatolites! Hence, the Research Institute. We walked to the main beach on the island where
these fascinating creatures abound and, while cute, they’re not as interesting or fun to watch as the sea otters at the
San Diego Zoo. In fact, they look a lot like rounded, white rocks.
At Highborne Cay our brand-new, high-output, engine-driven alternator got red hot, started smoking, and basically
gave up the ghost. With it went our refrigeration capabilities, as well as the kids' ability to play video games. Luckily,
our batteries are charged from shore power, we can buy ice at the marina here, and we have an ample supply of
books. So, we’ll strike out for our next stop, the Exuma Land and Sea Park on Warderick Wells, then on to Staniel
Cay, where (we hope) a replacement alternator and voltage regulator will await us, courtesy of our shore side parts
supplier, trip planner and weather maven, Capt. Pam Lendzion of St. Augustine.
Warderick Wells
Warderick Wells is the site of the headquarters of the Exumas Land and Sea Park. We’d planned to stay here for two
nights, giving us one full day to explore the park, hiking and snorkeling. Unfortunately, the anchorage was terrible,
with the wind, tide and waves all coming from different directions, setting up a nasty chop and spinning all the boats
around their anchors, halyards slapping, the chain banging the side of the boat, waves on the hull pounding
sounding like elephants marching all night long. So, first thing in the morning, we pulled up our anchor and 100 feet
of anchor chain (by hand, since our windlass wouldn’t work with our dead alternator) and headed off to Staniel Cay.
Warderick Wells is the site of the headquarters of the Exumas Land and Sea Park. We’d planned to stay here for two
nights, giving us one full day to explore the park, hiking and snorkeling. Unfortunately, the anchorage was terrible,
with the wind, tide and waves all coming from different directions, setting up a nasty chop and spinning all the boats
around their anchors, halyards slapping, the chain banging the side of the boat, waves on the hull pounding
sounding like elephants marching all night long. So, first thing in the morning, we pulled up our anchor and 100 feet
of anchor chain (by hand, since our windlass wouldn’t work with our dead alternator) and headed off to Staniel Cay.
A Brief Aside from Steve: I’m not sure, but I think that my family is uniting in a subtle revolt against shipboard
discipline. Not yet a Bounty-style open mutiny, but definitely of concern.
Now, I’ll admit to being a stickler for using correct onboard terminology. You know, it’s not a “dinghy rope,” it’s a
“painter”; it’s not a “window,” it’s a “port light” or “dead light” or “hatch,” depending; not “left/right” but “port/starboard”;
and so on. It’s really no different than other professionals … we’re all fiercely protective or our jargon, it
distinguishes us from the non-initiated.
So … what does this have to do with the aforementioned revolt? Well, this afternoon I told Jay to move his sneakers
away from the companionway ladder, to stow them in his cabin. Twenty minutes later they were still there … a gentle
reminder … at which point Jay came back with: “I’m not moving them unless you use the right boatword!”
“What are you talking about?” says I. “Put your @#$% sneakers away!”
“As long as we’re on a boat, they’re not called sneakers,” says Jay. “Mom and Maddy and I have decided that, since
you’re so caught up in using special boatwords instead of regular words, we’re going to make up boatwords for
everything, and if you don’t know what the boatword for sneakers is, that’s too bad.”
Luckily, Dianne came to my rescue with the correct boatword for “sneakers,” which is “zinkers” (in point of fact,
“zinkers” applies to all footwear on the boat). “Forks” is “zoinkers,” “playing cards” are “cods” (OK, I can see that
one, having lived in Boston), and the list goes on.
You may commend my family for really getting into the spirit of things, but I think they’re making fun of me.
discipline. Not yet a Bounty-style open mutiny, but definitely of concern.
Now, I’ll admit to being a stickler for using correct onboard terminology. You know, it’s not a “dinghy rope,” it’s a
“painter”; it’s not a “window,” it’s a “port light” or “dead light” or “hatch,” depending; not “left/right” but “port/starboard”;
and so on. It’s really no different than other professionals … we’re all fiercely protective or our jargon, it
distinguishes us from the non-initiated.
So … what does this have to do with the aforementioned revolt? Well, this afternoon I told Jay to move his sneakers
away from the companionway ladder, to stow them in his cabin. Twenty minutes later they were still there … a gentle
reminder … at which point Jay came back with: “I’m not moving them unless you use the right boatword!”
“What are you talking about?” says I. “Put your @#$% sneakers away!”
“As long as we’re on a boat, they’re not called sneakers,” says Jay. “Mom and Maddy and I have decided that, since
you’re so caught up in using special boatwords instead of regular words, we’re going to make up boatwords for
everything, and if you don’t know what the boatword for sneakers is, that’s too bad.”
Luckily, Dianne came to my rescue with the correct boatword for “sneakers,” which is “zinkers” (in point of fact,
“zinkers” applies to all footwear on the boat). “Forks” is “zoinkers,” “playing cards” are “cods” (OK, I can see that
one, having lived in Boston), and the list goes on.
You may commend my family for really getting into the spirit of things, but I think they’re making fun of me.
Staniel Cay Yacht Club
This is finally what we were expecting the Bahamas to be like: A small island, full-time population of about 100.
Bright, pastel-colored cottages lining the waterfront and narrow roads. Funky beach bars and restaurants with small
docks to tie up our dinghy. A swimsuit model photo shoot for Southern Boating magazine happening right here in the
yacht club, lucky I have a good pair of binoculars. The dirt airstrip a 10 minute walk from the beach into which Harry
Nixon flies his plane once each day from Fort Lauderdale and Nassau, bringing (hopefully) my replacement
alternator and our pending guests, the Senter family (Karen, Bob and Keil) of New Orleans, ex of Coronado, who will
stay with us for a few days. Plenty of gunkholing and snorkeling opportunities, including a cave where scenes from
the James Bond flick Thunderball were filmed. Fishermen selling lobsters and red snapper right off their boats on
the beach, with nurse sharks and rays circling in the shallows waiting for the fish-cleaning remains to be tossed into
the water. Pig Beach, where the "wild" pigs come down onto the sand when they hear the sound of a dinghy
outboard motor and swim out for food handouts.
There are probably 30 other cruising boats tied up and anchored here. We’d just tidied up Dakota Rose and
stepped up onto the dock when we met another family with a 10 year old daughter to play with Maddy; they’re from
Stowe, Vermont, and have sailed their boat, Taku, down from Maine. They’ve also brought with them their cat and
dog, prompting the expected discussion with Maddy after she spent the afternoon on their boat: “Why didn’t we
bring Griffen and Tiger?” “Tiger doesn’t like the water and Griffen’s too big.” “Martha’s dog is as big as Griffen.”
“Where would they poop?” “Martha’s pets poop in a box, why couldn’t we have a box?” “That’s disgusting, it would
smell.” “I’d keep it clean.” “We don’t have a boatword for ‘poop’.” “We’d make one up.” “It’s too late anyway, we’re
not going to fly them out from San Diego, isn’t it time for you to do some schoolwork?!”
Luckily, we've been able to adopt a more suitable onboard pet ... you'll just have to check out Maddy's page.
This is also our first opportunity to get out our folding mountain bikes ("Montague, used by the Navy Seals") and do
some exploring around the island.
Between waiting for our new alternator to arrive, hosting our guests, and sitting out a new weather system passing
through the region, we end up spending five nights in Staniel Cay. The third afternoon we and all other boats were
evicted from the Yacht Club docks because the cold front that was expected that evening was expected to bring with
it west-to-northwest high winds, waves and a storm surge on top of the high tide, and the marina is basically
unprotected from that direction. So, we moved Dakota Rose around the corner of a nearby island to a spot that was
better protected from the west and northwest, and spent the night anchored there. Although we were a bit
uncomfortable, we fared much better than the few sailboats that, for one reason or another, elected to stay in the
marina … the next afternoon we returned to tales of snapped mooring lines, shaking docks, wildly rolling boats, and
waves breaking through open port lights.
This is finally what we were expecting the Bahamas to be like: A small island, full-time population of about 100.
Bright, pastel-colored cottages lining the waterfront and narrow roads. Funky beach bars and restaurants with small
docks to tie up our dinghy. A swimsuit model photo shoot for Southern Boating magazine happening right here in the
yacht club, lucky I have a good pair of binoculars. The dirt airstrip a 10 minute walk from the beach into which Harry
Nixon flies his plane once each day from Fort Lauderdale and Nassau, bringing (hopefully) my replacement
alternator and our pending guests, the Senter family (Karen, Bob and Keil) of New Orleans, ex of Coronado, who will
stay with us for a few days. Plenty of gunkholing and snorkeling opportunities, including a cave where scenes from
the James Bond flick Thunderball were filmed. Fishermen selling lobsters and red snapper right off their boats on
the beach, with nurse sharks and rays circling in the shallows waiting for the fish-cleaning remains to be tossed into
the water. Pig Beach, where the "wild" pigs come down onto the sand when they hear the sound of a dinghy
outboard motor and swim out for food handouts.
There are probably 30 other cruising boats tied up and anchored here. We’d just tidied up Dakota Rose and
stepped up onto the dock when we met another family with a 10 year old daughter to play with Maddy; they’re from
Stowe, Vermont, and have sailed their boat, Taku, down from Maine. They’ve also brought with them their cat and
dog, prompting the expected discussion with Maddy after she spent the afternoon on their boat: “Why didn’t we
bring Griffen and Tiger?” “Tiger doesn’t like the water and Griffen’s too big.” “Martha’s dog is as big as Griffen.”
“Where would they poop?” “Martha’s pets poop in a box, why couldn’t we have a box?” “That’s disgusting, it would
smell.” “I’d keep it clean.” “We don’t have a boatword for ‘poop’.” “We’d make one up.” “It’s too late anyway, we’re
not going to fly them out from San Diego, isn’t it time for you to do some schoolwork?!”
Luckily, we've been able to adopt a more suitable onboard pet ... you'll just have to check out Maddy's page.
This is also our first opportunity to get out our folding mountain bikes ("Montague, used by the Navy Seals") and do
some exploring around the island.
Between waiting for our new alternator to arrive, hosting our guests, and sitting out a new weather system passing
through the region, we end up spending five nights in Staniel Cay. The third afternoon we and all other boats were
evicted from the Yacht Club docks because the cold front that was expected that evening was expected to bring with
it west-to-northwest high winds, waves and a storm surge on top of the high tide, and the marina is basically
unprotected from that direction. So, we moved Dakota Rose around the corner of a nearby island to a spot that was
better protected from the west and northwest, and spent the night anchored there. Although we were a bit
uncomfortable, we fared much better than the few sailboats that, for one reason or another, elected to stay in the
marina … the next afternoon we returned to tales of snapped mooring lines, shaking docks, wildly rolling boats, and
waves breaking through open port lights.
Black Point
We heard through the cruiser grapevine at Staniel Cay that a brand new, self service laudermat (that’s what it’s
called here) had recently opened in Black Point, a half day’s sail south of Staniel Cay. Wow! We were two weeks
from our last laundry, in Nassau, and weren’t expecting our next opportunity until George Town, still several days
away. Plus, since the kids hadn’t yet mastered the art of wearing the same t-shirt and shorts for several days in a
row (Steve, on the other hand, has had no problem fitting into this haberdasherial mode), we were in dire need of a
laundry stop.
So, we headed in to Black Point. This town, on Dotham Island, had not otherwise figured into our cruising plan since
its anchorage is pretty much unprotected from any wind and weather other than from south to east. Luckily, that’s
exactly the weather we expected for the next few days, giving us a good window of opportunity. We hauled our five
loads of laundry ashore in Rosebud, our trusty dinghy
What’s here in Black Point? Aside from the laundermat, that is? Well, there’s a tap, right by the dock, where cruisers
are allowed to help themselves to free drinking water (versus, for example, 40 cents per gallon at Staniel Cay). The
town itself is the most populous in the Exumas, after the aforementioned George Town, but has not figured
prominently in the cruising guides. With few employment opportunities here other than small-scale fishing, most of
the workers travel to other islands for tourist-related or construction jobs. There are two restaurants, at one of which
we had St. Valentine’s Day dinner, lobsters for Dianne and Steve, steak for Jay, ribs for Maddy, all with the standard
Bahamian side dishes: peas (really beans) and rice, cole slaw and macaroni and cheese (not Kraft).
And, the friendliest people! Dianne and Maddy stopped in at the small grocery while waiting for the washing
machines, got to talking with some locals, and Maddy was invited to visit the local school. It goes through the 8th
grade, and Maddy spent the afternoon in the combined 5th/6th grade class under Mr. Thompson, a teacher from
Guyana. We’re pleased to report that she got a 94% on her spelling test, she handed out stickers to her
classmates, and gave out her email address to keep in touch with some of her new friends.
We heard through the cruiser grapevine at Staniel Cay that a brand new, self service laudermat (that’s what it’s
called here) had recently opened in Black Point, a half day’s sail south of Staniel Cay. Wow! We were two weeks
from our last laundry, in Nassau, and weren’t expecting our next opportunity until George Town, still several days
away. Plus, since the kids hadn’t yet mastered the art of wearing the same t-shirt and shorts for several days in a
row (Steve, on the other hand, has had no problem fitting into this haberdasherial mode), we were in dire need of a
laundry stop.
So, we headed in to Black Point. This town, on Dotham Island, had not otherwise figured into our cruising plan since
its anchorage is pretty much unprotected from any wind and weather other than from south to east. Luckily, that’s
exactly the weather we expected for the next few days, giving us a good window of opportunity. We hauled our five
loads of laundry ashore in Rosebud, our trusty dinghy
What’s here in Black Point? Aside from the laundermat, that is? Well, there’s a tap, right by the dock, where cruisers
are allowed to help themselves to free drinking water (versus, for example, 40 cents per gallon at Staniel Cay). The
town itself is the most populous in the Exumas, after the aforementioned George Town, but has not figured
prominently in the cruising guides. With few employment opportunities here other than small-scale fishing, most of
the workers travel to other islands for tourist-related or construction jobs. There are two restaurants, at one of which
we had St. Valentine’s Day dinner, lobsters for Dianne and Steve, steak for Jay, ribs for Maddy, all with the standard
Bahamian side dishes: peas (really beans) and rice, cole slaw and macaroni and cheese (not Kraft).
And, the friendliest people! Dianne and Maddy stopped in at the small grocery while waiting for the washing
machines, got to talking with some locals, and Maddy was invited to visit the local school. It goes through the 8th
grade, and Maddy spent the afternoon in the combined 5th/6th grade class under Mr. Thompson, a teacher from
Guyana. We’re pleased to report that she got a 94% on her spelling test, she handed out stickers to her
classmates, and gave out her email address to keep in touch with some of her new friends.
The Exumas
 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |