March 7: Last day in the Bahamas

I've been sick for the past few days, so my outings have been less exuberant. I did make it out for a few hours around our hotel in downtown Nassau before we flew home, enjoying a quiet moment near a pool at the Greycliff listening to the doves coo in the palms.

Palm fronds rustle like rain,
doves coo a lullaby.
I don't miss snow.

March 6: Ferry to Nassau

Sadly, we had to leave Small Hope Bay Lodge today. In hopes of finding some pelagic birds, we decided to take the Bahama Fast Ferry from Fresh Creek. Friday is ferry day at the Lighthouse Marina, and the dock was bustling with cargo being forklifted off the boat and onto trucks. We were among the few passengers and had the entire top deck to ourselves; from that vantage point, we saw what was probably that first Bahama Oriole calling from the same perch as a few days before. We were also eye level with Royal Terns flying past as we left the dock.

The turquoise water of the shallows quickly gave way to the deep blue waters of the Tongue of the Ocean, an oceanic trench between Andros and New Providence Islands that is up to 6,600 feet deep. Out in the deep water, we saw no birds, but we did see several flying fish, which thrilled me as they buzzed for many yards over the waves below.

Pulling into Nassau, we approached the old lighthouse, on one side of which you can see the towers of Atlantis Resort & Casino on Paradise Island, and on the other, several multi-story cruise ships. And when we land, we're down below waiting for a taxi into the city.

Flying fish--

I wonder which element

it enjoys most.

Bahama Fast Ferry awaits us in Fresh Creek

Lighthouse Marina as we leave Fresh Creek

Looking back on shallow water as we cross the Tongue of the Ocean

Entering Nassau: Atlantis on Paradise Island to the left; cruise ships to the right

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March 5: Blue Holes

Small Hope Bay Lodge's nature guide Tarran took us on a blue hole tour this morning in the nearby national park. Certain trees along the trail to Rainbow Hole were labeled, and Tarran shared with us each tree's value to bush medicine. At the hole itself, he encouraged us to take off our shoes and let the swarms of tiny gobi fish nibble our feet. We jokingly called this the spa tour. The fish tickled.

In Maidenhair Coppice, while trying to track down a Great Lizard-cuckoo, an elusive species we finally heard calling, we heard an even more elusive bird: the Key West Quail-dove. Given the density of the foliage in the coppice, I couldn't imagine how we'd actually see it. I guess our best bet would be for it to fly across the road in front of us. Its voice sounds like the moan of a distant foghorn. Unfortunately for us, a very distant foghorn. We didn't end up seeing either bird. But we enjoyed our tour, which culminated with a swim in 400-ft deep Capt. Bill's Hole.

In the afternoon I rode one of the lodge's bikes to Androsia, the batik factory started by the second wife of the lodge's founder. Meanwhile, my husband was bonefishing all morning, and learned how to scuba dive all afternoon. A little nature, a little culture, a lot of exercise in the subtropical air.

In the coppice's heat

dove's call a distant foghorn--

I'm thinking of home.

Paul fishing at Small Hope Bay Lodge

Capt. Bill's Blue Hole

Androsia Batik Factory

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March 4: Small Hope Bay Lodge, Andros

We took a taxi this morning away from the faded Lighthouse Marina, over the Fresh Creek bridge, past Hank's on the water where we had dinner the night before, past the crab statue at the center of Coakley Town, past two cemeteries and the primary school, past a few liquor stores and a Jamaican jerk chicken place, to Small Hope Bay Lodge. The ecolodge, established in 1960, is a lovely spread that specializes in scuba-diving and bonefishing, with a heavy emphasis on relaxing in hammocks, hanging out on the beach, and eating well. Rooms are draped in batik fabric made at the local batik factory. Water is solar-heated. And the fully stocked bar is self-serve.

After dinner we joined the nature guide Tarran for a nocturnal walk through the mangrove marsh, listening for night birds: Yellow-crowned Night-heron, Clapper Rail. Something large and pale flew away from us soundlessly in the dark.

Sun, sea, birds, food--

when all needs are met,

the sky opens its big blue book.

Small Hope Bay Lodge

View from my hammock

Small Hope Bay Lodge

Small Hope Bay Lodge dining room

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March 3: Andros

A day of movement: fly back to Nassau, rent a car and bird around New Providence for a few hours, with stops at Harrold & Wilson National Park and Clifton Heritage National Park, then squeeze into another little plane for the 15-minute hop over to Andros. On Andros we find ourselves in a ghost town of sorts. The Lighthouse Marina was, according to all sources, an international hot spot in its day, visited by the Rat Pack, and the Duke of Windsor and Wallis Simpson. Now, thanks to some bad luck, it's owned by the government, which explains the near-empty dining room, poor wifi link, empty pool, overgrown tennis court, and shoddy furnishings. We walk down the pier, past the one yacht and two sailboats, out to the point past a wrecked ship, a faded 1892 lighthouse and cannons, and around the corner to a little beach with a dilapidated tiki bar. You can almost hear the tinkle of ice in glasses, faint laughter. The wreck was named, appropriately, "Old Glory."

The one thing this place has going for it is the Bahama Oriole, our last target endemic. And luckily for us, it's one of the first birds we find here--two, in fact--and with 300 left in the world, probably the rarest bird I'll ever see.

A few hundred left,

but the oriole only cares

that one is female.

Bahama Oriole

Lighthouse Marina

Lighthouse and waxing moon

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March 2: Elbow Cay

Our ferry to Elbow Cay didn't leave until 10:30, so we had a few hours this morning to bird the grounds of the Lofty Fig, where we're staying. Jeannette and I were hanging out by the pool when we heard the call of the elusive (to us) West Indian Woodpecker, a species we hadn't yet managed to see. Joined by Derek and Paul, we headed to the back of the property, past the ubiquitous dog, and eventually caught a glimpse of the bird as it flew into a large ficus. More enjoyable were our looks at a little wave of about a dozen migrant warblers, most very familiar to us in Maine if not usually so spectacularly: at one point I was looking at a Prairie, a male Cape May, a Yellow-throated, and a Worm-eating Warbler all together. We won't see them here for another couple of months at least, and I guarantee I won't be seeing a line-up like that.

Elbow Cay is about four miles off Abaco. A tall, red-and-white-striped lighthouse stands at the head of the harbor of Hope Town, a historic, colonial town that has retained a lot of its original character in its quaint and colorful cottages. Apparently the lighthouse was not appreciated by island residents when it was first built because it deprived them of shipwrecks, their main source of livelihood.

After lunch at a pier restaurant from which we could watch colorful fish, gulls, and even a sea turtle, we walked through town past cute shops and the harbor to bird our way south. Along the way, a West Indian Woodpecker strafed Paul and landed in a tree right overhead, so we finally got our good look at that bird. We walked a few miles to the pretty Abaco Inn, which is sited at a point between a surf beach to the east and protected shallows to the west. To the east, beyond that surf is open ocean to Europe. We enjoyed a cocktail from this vantage point and then got a ride back to town, with time to get an ice cream cone before the ferry.

Under the crashing waves

what wreckage remains--

shells, ships, history.

Hope Town Lighthouse, Elbow Cay

Hope Town

Hope Town

Wayfinding in Hope Town

Surf beach off the Abaco Inn--nothing beyond here but open ocean to Europe

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March 1: Treasure Cay

This morning we headed north to Treasure Cay to meet up with emminent Bahama birder Woody Bracey, who graciously agreed to show us around for a few hours. Treasure Cay isn't an island per se, simply a peninsula, but it has the feeling of a wealthy, white enclave compared to the rest of Abaco that we had seen. For one thing, there's a golf course. Fortunately for us, a pond on this golf course hosts a flock of White-cheeked Pintails, a most beautiful Caribbean duck. Woody drove us right to them.

Next we walked the grounds of an old "nursery," a park-like place where we found a Barn Owl feather at the base of a palm, saw our first Loggerhead Kingbird, and got long looks at Cuban Emeralds feeding and fighting in a flower patch.

Then Woody fearlessly drove us up and down the rutted, overgrown roads of an old citrus farm, through fields being tilled by squatters--refugees from Haiti--and into the pine woods. We got better looks at the Bahama Warbler here. He told us about the wild horses of Abaco, a remnant herd whose Spanish ancestors were shipwrecked on the island centuries ago. It's vitality is close to being extinguished, however, as only one mare remains, though he said they were going to try to harvest her eggs. Apparently the woman who has spearheaded efforts on behalf of the horses also works on behalf of the "potcakes," the feral island dogs. The island is a real catchment of survivors, including human ones.

Single owl feather

tells a story of presence

and disappearance.

White-cheeked Pintails, Treasure Cay golf course pond

View from "the nursery" garden

Birding with Woody Bracey in the pine forest

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February 28: Abaco National Park

Headed out early today in order to spend time in southern Abaco at the big national park created there to protect habitat of the Bahama Parrot, a subspecies of the Cuban Parrot of which there between 3,000 - 5,000 birds remaining on Abaco (8,000 - 13,000 are estimated on Great Inaugua Island). Began our day enjoying a Bahama specialty treat, guava duff, on a beach in the little town of Sandy Point, then headed into the park on foot to enjoy Bahama specialty birds. The open pine forests were hot but birdy, and we found three more of the five Bahama endemics: Bahama Yellowthroat, Bahama Warbler, and Bahama Woodstar (a hummingbird), in addition to other area highlights: Cuban Pewee, Olive-capped Warbler, Cuban Emerald (another hummingbird), and Bahama Mockingbird. And the air was filled with pretty little Atala butterflies. But no parrots.

Our outdated bird guide suggested another stop outside the park at a bonefishing camp, but the camp had clearly given up the ghost many years ago. Junked cars and dilapidated buildings were overgrown by vegetation, looking not just abandoned but pillaged. A careful walk through on creaky walkways gave me the creeps. And yielded no new birds.

One last stop on the way back to Marsh Harbour, however, brought us our parrots. We came upon a flock of a couple dozen or so foraging in roadside fruit trees. These large, loud green birds with white and pink heads seemed to have little fear of us as we stood below gawking and taking pictures. They're the first wild parrots I've ever seen--and what's cool is that they're a truly wild parrot here, not a population established from escaped birds as are all the parrots in the US. What's also cool is that these birds nest in limestone caves--this explains their scarcity; the Inaguan population has adapted to nesting in trees and avoids predators more easily.

Blues I carry with me:

this turquoise ocean,

shimmer of a parrot's wings.

Abaco National Park

Atala

Crossing Rocks beach

Abaco National Park

Bahama Parrot

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February 27: Abaco

From Nassau, we fly to Abaco, where we will spend the next four nights in Marsh Harbour and begin birding the Bahamas in earnest. We start on our way from the airport, where Paul and I pick up a couple of new species at our first stop: Bananaquit and Black-faced Grassquit, and we all add LaSagra's Flycatcher. The place we're staying is right across the street from the marina and we can see gulls and frigatebirds soaring overhead. We also spot the first of five Bahama endemic species we're seeking this trip: Bahama Swallows active in the sky right over our little cottages. We spend a few hours wandering the grounds of a nearby resort, where we add ten more lifers, including the brightly patterned Western Spindalis and the very vocal Thick-billed Vireo. Later, while Paul swam in the pool, Derek, Jeannette and I wander through town up to the ferry pier, where we enjoy a Kalik beer and watch an oystercatcher eat a snail out on a jetty.

Many anoles and curly-tailed lizards live on the property where we're staying.

When I open the door

brown lizard darts inside--

travel companion.

Saw-scaled Curlytail

Saw-scaled Curlytail

Hermit crabs

Cheers!

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February 26: Arrival

Flying out of Boston this morning, my husband, our friends Derek and Jeannette, and I touch down before lunch in busy Nassau, the largest city in the Bahamas--a distinct contrast of climate and culture to where we came from. The taxi ride from the airport passes long white sand beaches lined with palms. We check into our worn downtown hotel within view of the pink parliament building and head out to explore: tourist shops, liquor stores, pirate museum, straw market, conch fishermen, line of restaurants on Arawak Cay selling cracked (fried) conch and rum cocktails, abandoned buildings, art museum, crowds of uniformed schoolchildren, rum distillery, honking cars, flowers. We've gained about 60 degrees, the place literally wraps its warm arms around us. Heat is a foreign country.

A small jungle grows
amid ruined, pink walls.
Doves nest here now.

Ruins, downtown Nassau

Ruins, downtown Nassau

John Watling Distillery, Nassau

Conch fishermen, Nassau

The Straw Market, Nassau

Nassau schoolchildren