Remembering Arrington

You don’t really know a road until you’ve cycled it. On a bike, everything is magnified: the surface, contour and camber; the hills and valleys; the ruts and potholes; even the shoulder. Arrington always said: “Pay attention to the shoulder—there’s always a chance you might be in it.”

He used to joke that they should rename the Eleuthera Queen’s Highway for him because he knew every inch of it better than anybody. He loved cycling so much that some nights during the full moon, he would bunk at a friend’s place in Bannerman Town and leave at 3 am, pedaling along in the moonlight, headed for Spanish Wells, 100 miles to the north. Once he asked me to join him, but I weaseled out, and promised to have the coffee ready when he came by.

Cycling evangelist

Self-trained, he had unorthodox techniques. On a steep hill, the standard tactic is to shift up two cogs and stand up, adding your body weight to the downstroke, using your arms to wiggle the bike from side to side to help the upstroke. We never saw Arrington stand up. Instead he would hunker down in the saddle and simply power his way over the hill. And he always left us in the dust. I was hoping to observe this technique in the White Mountains when he and Hazel visited us in New Hampshire.

Arrington was a cycling evangelist. He constantly tried to convince his friends to take up a bike, grumbling when they made excuses. His ambition was to ride every major Bahamian island—Abaco was in the cards for 2011, Cat Island for 2012.

Thanks to him, we were able to cycle Long Island (the Bahamas version). He made all the arrangements—twice. This was just one of his many kindnesses, and the shared laughs, food, fun and friendship that made our winters on Eleuthera so special.

He had more than one dimension. A skilled craftsman, who learned his trade at the former U.S. Navy Base, he built pretty rental cottages on his waterfront property, where visitors were sometimes invited to dinner at his home.

Clicking into high

Four of his renters were with us at his 64th birthday party on March 26th, 2011. There was one thing he wouldn’t eat: the staple seafood of The Bahamas. Arrington had fished since he was a boy, annoying his dad by eating the bait—a habit which gave him a lifetime distaste for conch.

Arrington liked music from island ballads to the classical guitar recitals. He had a devoted, loving family, whose laughter was contagious. He was a first-class cook, and did all the cooking for his bedridden first wife, caring for her every day until she died. The Hon. Alvin Smith, Speaker of the Bahamas House of Assembly, once remarked to me: “Now there’s a man who knows how to raise a family.”

The thought of him gone at so early an early age is impossible to bear. So let us not think of him as gone—just away for the present. Let us be glad he died painlessly, doing something he loved. Arrington’s last “Ride for Hope” was also my last, for several reasons. The main one is that I could never ride another without thinking of the big hole this man left in all our lives. I’d rather think of him as I often saw him, way out in front, clicking into high, hunkered down for the next hill. Godspeed, my gifted, true and many-sided friend.

Messages from his friends

This update would have lost the comments received at the time, so I reprise them herewith:

Friends said, “If you expect to leave The Bahamas, do it now.” We thought it best. (I failed at retirement and needed my library in New Hampshire in my work for Hillsdale College in Michigan.) Accordingly, we changed our flights to Nassau and Boston from our usual April departure to March 25th.

Jet Blue was in chaos. In my first online chat session they said the change would cost $472. It’s always a good idea to disconnect and try another chat link. The second time it was “no charge”! We always use “Even More Space” (premium economy, early boarding), and those seats were wide open. We chose two in the middle, hoping the load would remain light.

March 22nd:

We moved into “departure mode.” Veteran Bahamas winter residents know the drill. Hurricane shutters up, top off utility accounts, extra food to the locals, tank filled with gas and Stabile, battery minders set. Problem solved? Not quite…

March 24th:

The local carrier called at 6am: “We’re stopping all service. You have one hour to get on our last flight.” Groggy from sleep I replied, “We can’t possibly clear out in an hour.” “Then you’d better plan on staying put.”

It was outrageous. Inter-island flights were not banned. More than one local carrier acted without warning, leaving customers flat.  I vowed never to fly with them again and demanded a refund. They complied, but it took us three months to get it.

March 25th:

Back on the web and phone, searching for a way out. The shutdown order did not prevent airlines from taking passengers at Nassau. Of course, to have a flight out, you need one coming in. And few were coming. You lose big money when you fly empty.

There was one exception: Aztec Airways, a charter carrier with frequent flights to the Bahamas from Fort Lauderdale. I rang an old friend there, a former Bahamas resident. She saved our bacon.

Through it all, Aztec stood head and shoulders above other airlines in concern for travelers to the Bahamas Out Islands. We strongly recommend them and may fly with them exclusively now. It costs more, but you know they will do their level best to help you out. Plus, they fly from the Fort Lauderdale executive terminal—no security hassles. See www.aztecairways.com for schedules or phone them at (954) 601-3742.

Aztec was complying with the Bahamas ban on arriving passengers, but had secured permission to fly over empty (at a big loss, of course) to take people home. In minutes we were booked out of North Eleuthera on March 27th. It was Aztec’s first flight since the shutdown. The company is still flying today, subject to government entry health regulations. They charge $500-600 for a round trip. They also offer charter flights, can be affordable if you fill a nine-passenger plane. A charter flight will show up any time you specify, and flight time is ninety minutes.

Following Aztec’s rescue, we booked Delta first class to Boston, thinking that gave the best chance of safe distancing. The cost was $800. I phoned a New Hampshire car service to pick us up at Logan arrivals. Another $200, with tip—in all, this adventure cost us $1200 extra. It was worth every cent.

March 27th:

A dear Bahamian friend I’ve known forty years showed up ahead of time in his taxi and whisked us to North Eleuthera Airport. Aztec arrived early and all nine passengers were there, so we left early and were in Lauderdale by 4pm. It was a brilliant job by the airline and its pilot (who was not even allowed to leave his aircraft).

An airport shuttle took us to the Delta section of Fort Lauderdale International Airport. It was a spotless SUV, its masked driver handling luggage with wipes. We did not bother to touch the seatbelts.

I made one mistake. Waiting for the shuttle, I was parched. Another arriving Aztec passenger handed me a bottle of water. Carefully I wiped it down, drank deeply, put it on my suitcase. Then I picked up his bottle by mistake and continued to drink! I apologized but he laughed it off: “No virus on Eleuthera. No worries!”

If you’ve been through an airport since March, I don’t have to describe the eeriness. At our gate a Detroit flight was boarding. “Anyone who needs more time may board now…First Class and Diamond Select may board… Comfort Plus, anybody?” Nobody stood up. “Never mind—all seats!” Ten people climbed aboard.

The Boston flight was anticlimactic. We wiped down our seats with Lysol and used gloves for passports and boarding passes. Delta left on time at 7:51 pm with about twenty-five passengers. As planned, we were alone in first class. But since they were not serving drinks, the flight crew had little to do, and three of them engaged in close-up no-mask chatter for the whole flight.

March 28th, early AM:

Logan Airport was almost deserted, but Boston’s weather was warm. We’d cleared Customs and Immigration at the no-sweat Executive Terminal, so were right out the door, our reliable NH driver at curbside in a wiped-down van. We headed north on near-empty I-93, arriving in Moultonborough at 1:30am. Thanks to neighbors, the larder was stocked and the hot water turned up for showers.

We sprayed Lysol on our suitcases, shoes and clothes and left them in the garage to mellow overnight. Unfortunately the wine cellar was not at its peak, but has since been replenished. (Gloria at Bristol Liquors on Eleuthera will be abashed to know that the lovely Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc she has to charge $22.95 for in the Bahamas sells in New Hampshire state stores for ten bucks.) Safe at home!

This is a personal experience in no way indicative of what others may encounter, and rules about entry to The Bahamas are changing weekly. Hopefully however somebody will be helped by this account.

More on the Bahamas Out Islands

Several articles on the “Family Islands” will be found in the “travel” section.

Staniel Cay is an active stopover for sailing yachts with an affable yacht club for lunch. We spent an hour meandering its winding lanes and admiring the colorful cottages. On the way back we stopped at Compass Cay to “swim with the sharks”—big, friendly nurse sharks which behave like aquatic dogs, nosing up to a water-level dock to be fed bits of conch and allowing their sandpaper backs to be scratched.

These nurses are quite different from your image from “Jaws” (and as veteran Bahamian divers know, we have nothing that threatening in local waters anyway). Adult specimens are as big as a man, but they tend to spend most of their time on the bottom, feeding on lobster and other bottom dwellers, some covered with sand. With snacks in the water they swim up leisurely and literally take it out of your hand. Just watch the fingers to avoid being gummed.

We were back in Governor’s Harbour before sunset, and amazed that we were able to see so much in just a day, thank to Paul Petty’s expert knowledge based on his years in Exuma; he wasted little time shuffling us between points of interest. Even then, we had seen only perhaps a quarter of it. A high powered skiff is the quickest way over, but perhaps you want to think of something else if you’re over 50. For sailors. the place idyllic. We have never seen such water–even clearer and more shimmering than Eleuthera. Still, after any such adventure, Eleuthera is the best place to wind down.

More on the web:

Photos from the cruising yacht Solstice.

 Fodor’s Travel Guide to the Exuma Cays

Once reached, the gemstone islets of Exuma invite you to meander at a deliberate pace in placid, gin-clear waters. There were sailboats and cruising lots galore along the islets, and you can see why. Sailing from one to another, dropping anchor by whim or fancy, is an experience that will wash the world away.

Every islet is different and has its own attractions. At Warderick Wells Cay is the Exuma Cays National Land and Sea Park—a good first stop after crossing over from Eleuthera. A marine fishery and native plant preserve, it occupies 176 acres. Fishing is banned to preserve the amazing array of marine life, which you can see by diving or kayak.

Thunderball Grotto, location for a famous James Bond film, is a cave in the coral where at low tide you can swim inside, surrounded by schools of curious, multi-colored tropical fish.

The diving here is spectacular. An upper wet suit was the most we needed, and though Bahamian waters are not known for tepid temperatures in February, it seemed the water out there was warmer than the south side of Eleuthera—more like the Atlantic, which by a strange inversion of the Gulf Stream, is warmer than the Exuma Sound in the winter.

There are many more photos of this beautiful little ocean hole. Just Google “Thunderbird Grotto Exuma.”

Underwater photos by Barbara Langworth.

At Major Cay, the famous “swimming pigs” prove that Churchill was right: “Cats look down on you, dogs look up to you—give me a pig! He looks you in the eye and treats you as an equal.” Click here for a good video.

The establishment of pigs on this uninhabited islet near Staniel Cay began a few years ago by a friend of Paul Petty. They have a freshwater pond for water and food to root in the bush, but are also well fed by tourists, who beach their whalers or anchor in shallow water. The pigs swim out, dog-paddling with their noses snorkeling in the air. A half-dozen fat, seagoing pigs are the only residents. Baby porkers are removed when weaned, so the islet doesn’t overpopulate.

Concluded in Part 3…

The date was our anniversary, so it couldn’t have been better timed. Paul and his affable mate Dwayne had six passengers, including three residents of Rainbow Bay and three Canadian ladies, one of whom organized the expedition. The entire trip took nine hours: two hours out and back, and five hours among the islets—which went like a flash.

The 130-mile-long archipelago forming the Exuma chain is a majestic display of Bahamian nature—however you get there, it’s worth every minute. All the colors from aquamarine to sapphire shimmer through the most beautiful ocean water in the world. But I’m going to charter a sailboat next time.

A skiff is built to plane, and when you have 2-4 ft waves and chop in the deeper parts of the Exuma Sound, she just pounds, and we took the pounding at 35 knots. Paul is a good seaman and handled the waves well. He could have slowed down but then we would have had much less time in the Exumas. The ride was rougher out against the tide. On the return, Paul had a following sea and after passing Cape Eleuthera cut diagonally northwest past the Schooner Cays, which gave us a smooth run over turquoise water. Our bodies only ached for 48 hours.

Continued in Part 2….

Poor, dear Arrington

You don’t really know a road until you’ve bicycled it. On a bike, everything is magnified: the surface, contour and camber; the hills and valleys; the ruts and potholes; even the shoulder. Arrington always said: “Pay attention to the shoulder. It’s always possible you soon might have to occupy it.”

Arrington McCardy, founder of the Eleuthera Long Riders, who died of a totally unexpected heart attack on the April 9th “Ride for Hope,” joked that they should rename the Queen’s Highway for him because he knew every inch of it better than anyone else. He loved riding so much that some nights during the full moon, he would bunk at a friend’s place in Bannerman Town and leave at 3am, pedaling along in the moonlight, headed for Spanish Wells, 100 miles away. Once he asked me to join him, but I weaseled out, and promised to have the coffee ready when he came by.

Cycling evangelist

Self-trained, he had unorthodox techniques. On a steep hill, the standard tactic is to shift up two cogs and stand up, adding your body weight to the downstroke, using your arms to wiggle the bike from side to side to help the upstroke. We never saw Arrington stand up. Instead he would hunker down in the saddle and simply power his way over the hill. And he always left us in the dust. I was hoping to watch this technique in the White Mountains this year, when he and Hazel would visit us in New Hampshire.

Arrington was a cycling evangelist. He constantly tried to convince his friends to take up a bike, grumbling when they made excuses. His ambition was to ride every major Bahamian island—Abaco was in the cards this month, Cat Island next year. Thanks to him, we were able to cycle Long Island (the Bahamas version). He made all the arrangements—twice. This was just one of his many kindnesses, and all the shared laughs, the food and fun, the friendship that made our winters on Eleuthera so special.

He had more than one dimension. A skilled craftsman, who learned his trade at the former U.S. Navy Base, he built pretty rental cottages on his waterfront property, where visitors were sometimes even invited to dinner.

Clicking into high

Four of them were with us at his 64th birthday party on March 26th. He fished since he was a boy, annoying his father by eating the bait, a habit which gave him a lifetime distaste for conch. Arrington liked music from island ballads to the classical guitar recitals. He had a devoted, loving family, whose laughter was contagious. The Hon. Alvin Smith, Speaker of the Bahamas House of Assembly, once remarked to me: “Now there’s a man who knows how to raise a family.”

The thought of him gone at such an early age is impossible to bear, so let us not think of him as gone—just away for the present. Let us be glad he died painlessly, doing something he loved. Arrington’s last Ride For Hope was also my last, for several reasons. The main one is that I could never ride another without thinking of the big hole this one left in all our lives. I’d rather think of him as I often saw him, way out in front, clicking into high and hunkered down for the next hill. God speed, my dear friend.

Walk up toward the Atlantic as the bush thins out and the sand takes over. Soon the sand thins and you’re walking on bare coral. Watch your step to avoid the uneven surface and pockmarked holes. As you approach the ocean, work your way to the left (north), keeping Harbour Island on the horizon ahead of you. You will come to a small cut in the rock where the waves sweep into shore. Descend into this little cove and you have arrived at what locals call the “Queen’s Baths.”

The Baths …

…none of them more than a couple feet deep, are in a unique formation of tidal pools, regularly replenished with water from the Atlantic. The exquisite colored water, crystalline, light turquoise, sparkles in gin-clear pools. Baked by the sun, the baths are as warm as a tub and alive with tiny, colorful fish and crustaceans. Behind them is a large cavern cut into the coastline by centuries of wave action.

You can while away hours or an afternoon here, usually all by yourself. Shellers will find small, jewel-like specimens in the nearby pockets of sand, a new assortment delivered with every good surf. You can wade or bathe in 85-degree water, a cold drink in hand. Exploring for sea life and mesmerized by the surf, you may get doused by a stray wave.

Warning: don’t get too close to the surf. The ocean waters here are deep and the currents are powerful. Crashing combers can unexpectedly carry walkers out out to sea. Rescue has to come from Harbour Island—assuming anybody has seen you fall in.

Ask even Eleuthera-born residents about the Queen’s Baths and you may draw a blank. But don’t miss this special gem on our Atlantic  coast.

First published in The Eleutheran, January 2008.

More Eleuthera Byways:

Edwin’s Fishlake

First published in The Eleutheran, September 2008; Edwin’s Turtle Lake Marine Preserve, with a fine new dock and the bottle shack restored in December 2014.

Edwin’s of old

Three miles south of Governor’s Harbour, on the right side at the S-bends as the road plunges toward Palmetto Point, is a large saltwater lake. Passersby who stop to investigate will find the remains of a curious shed built of mortar and beer bottles, the amber, green and clear glass sorted by colour, bottoms facing out. A few yards away, obscured by bush and weathered by the years, was a wooden sign whose words were just legible:

Edwin’s Fishing Lake

Established March 10th 1954

The First Fishlake of the Bahamas

Over 20,000 fish of 32 varieties have

been placed in this lake.

Enjoyable entertainment for

tourists and sportsmen

Fishing 9AM-5PM

Edwin Burrows, Founder

The old sign is covered now by a modern one. The curious will wonder: who was Edwin Burrows? Why did he establish the first (only?) “Fishlake of the Bahamas”? What happened in this place and when? The answers, like most Eleuthera stories, are more complicated than people might expect.

Scary stories

Residents of a certain age tell spooky stories of the Fishlake. Some have encountered a ghostly woman hitchhiker with a bundle on her head and/or a bag in her hand; drivers have given her a lift, only to find a few miles later that no one is there. The spectral apparition has also been spotted headless, rising out of the mist on moonlit nights!

A fisherman known to Arrington McCardy of Hatchet Bay told of a midnight crabbing trip when “something really big came out of the water….I didn’t waste time investigating—I ran. I went there a few more nights with the sweat rolling off me. After awhile I wouldn’t go back.”

Eleuthera’s version of the Loch Ness Monster? Probably not, says Shirley Burrows, Edwin’s daughter, of Governor’s Harbour. “Most of the people who saw these things were from my Daddy’s time, when there were fewer electric lights and high powered search lamps…”

Entrepreneur Edwin

Edwin Burrows, who passed on in 1982, was a farmer and fisherman who raised twelve children in Governor’s Harbour. Ingenious and ambitious, he constantly sought new ways to support his large family. “My father was the first on the island who ‘doped’ pineapples, applying a spray that induced them to produce fruit the year round,” Shirley recalls. “In those days, when most of the tourists were clustered around Governor’s Harbour instead of spread out in developments, the market for pineapples was best in the tourist season rather than in the late spring and summer when they normally matured.

“Daddy also observed that everybody else was growing tomatoes to sell to French Leave Resort. So he grew lettuce, broccoli and sprouts, and had the market to himself.”

Edwin also ran a club on Cupid’s Cay, built with his unique combination of beer bottles and mortar; the remnants of a wall are still there, but you have to look sharp to see it.

Noticing that visiting fishermen were sometimes unable to get out on the ocean, either for lack of boats or high seas, Edwin Burrows decided to stock the placid lake with ocean game species and invite the public. He caught the fish by line, with traps or with a net. He also made a beach for turtles to lay eggs. Today the turtle population is thriving. (Maybe that’s what comes out of the water on dark nights.)

Denizens of the pond

Burrows Fishlake is tidal, with an underwater opening to the Atlantic, but like most such pools has high mineral and salt concentrations. This makes for interesting anomalies.

“Ocean fish grow bigger in the lake than the ocean,” Shirley continues, “but some develop oddly. Caribbean grunts are usually soft-skinned and tender. In the lake they grow huge, but much tougher. They turn up at the ends in the frying pan!”

There are still big fish in the lake. Sidney Burrows of Governor’s Harbour remembered a Caribbean lobster with an eight-pound tail caught there. Sid once hooked a 600-pound turtle on a long line, that could not be landed. A diver saw a 150-pound jew fish, and Sidney trapped 50-pound groupers, but the meat was too tough. He finally gave up on the pond because “everything in it is too big.”

Edwin’s Fishlake it is not much used today, though the Burrows family has recently restored Edwin’s shack and built a nice jetty where you can rent kayaks.  The ghostly legends persist. Are  you superstitious? Or frightened by things that go bump in the night? Best then to postpone any midnight reconnoitering.

More Eleuthera byways:

The Queen’s Baths