Since I’m not actually underway, but, am trying to get a few
of my readers back before departing to the Bahamas again, I figured it is a
good time to tell sea stories.
Several years ago, I cruised into where I planned to anchor
for the night, on the northern side of Green Cay shortly after dark. That is the Green Cay east of Andros, south
of New Providence, west of the Exuma chain, on the eastern edge of the Tongue
of the Ocean.
I surveyed the area as we came around the island with the
radar. It appeared as though we had the
island to ourselves. As we dropped the
anchor, we heard a shout, coming from the uninhabited island. We killed the engine, and listened for a
minute, and heard someone yelling, “Heeeeyyyy!”
After a brief discussion about safety and logistics, my
friend, Steve, took the tender and a flashlight in to shore to render
assistance. I monitored the situation
from the boat with a pair of binoculars.
I could hear Steve yelling out a “hello” but couldn’t hear a
response. I watched as Steve surveyed
the coast with his flashlight, and I turned the searchlight from the boat, and
ran it along the shore. I saw no one.
Steve returned to the boat, and no sooner than he’d
climbed aboard, telling me he heard and seen no one, we heard a yell
again. “Heeeyyyy!” Another scan with the searchlight showed
nothing.
We spent a restless night, worried about who would call us,
and then hide, and who might swim out to the vessel during the night.
In the morning, we went ashore, determined to look for signs
of life. The rocky shore showed no
tracks, but as soon as we got to a patch of sand, we found the prints of where
our prankster had walked the night before. The grounds were littered with shotgun shells.
We eventually saw some of the culprits at a distance.
Over the years, I’ve talked to several other boaters who
have spent hours, and sleepless nights looking for that distressed sailor who
seems to always try to signal boats that arrive around dark.
"Heeeeyyyyy!!!"
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