A Night at The Beach Club

Bird's eye view of Norman's Cay, Exumas, Bahamas

“So many nights I dream of the ocean,
God I wish I was sailing again.
Yesterday’s over my shoulder
and I won’t look back for too long,
there’s just too much to see
waiting in front of me,
and I know that I just can’t go wrong.”
JB

"Hey Doll, how about another one of those tasty concoctions" Mikey asked from across the bar. He was slouched back in his bar stool, guitar resting on his lap as he shook his fingers out. "Man, I need to play more, my fingers are out of shape", he studied them carefully, the grooves from the guitar strings clearly evident. Mikey had just arrived that morning on Yamacraw, his converted fishing trawler, with two weeks worth of supplies for the restaurant and bar on Norman's Cay. The island of Norman's Cay is a 6 mile strip of land situated between the Exuma Sound and the Atlantic Ocean. It is located on the northern end of the Exuma island chain, a long narrow strip that consist of 365 islands running north to south in the central Bahamas. Norman's Cay is shaped like a fish hook, creating a large protected saltwater pond.

The bar at Norman's Cay Beach Club was lively for a Wednesday night, or maybe it was a Thursday, I can never keep my days straight anymore. Stefan, the owner of the establishment, and I were busy refilling drinks behind the bar in between Mikey's and his brother Tommy's sets.

Mikey and Tommy Goodwin expatriated themselves down to the Bahamas years ago. The 70's may have weathered them a bit, but in their faces showed lines of smiles and their hearty laughs could fill up a room. They both looked like characters you would find in a rough and tumble bar in Key West, the type that probably drove a Harley and stayed up regularly until 4am. They both had weathered faces, Mikey's was leathered and tanned from countless years on the water in the sun-baked Bahamas. You could always count on finding him lounging on the deck of Yamacraw, sporting faded Speedos and a oversized gold chain, cigarette in one hand, a rum and coke in the other. He would wave you over and invite you aboard, as he wove tales of his crazy and often unbelieveable experiences in the Bahamas.

Mikey aboard his converted trawler, Yamacraw

No one is really sure how he got into this gig, but we were all glad he was doing it, a true modern day pirate. Every week he would make his rounds, loading up his boat in Nassau and chugging it the 35 miles across the Yellow Bank to make his scheduled stops Highborne Cay, Norman's Cay and several other small settlements along the way as needed. He was the most cost effective supply boat in the area, the other option being to fly cargo in on a small 5 seater chartered prop plane. Mikey always stuck around for a few days to bless us with some musical entertainment, a rare luxury in this little corner of the world. This time he brought his brother Tommy with him. Tommy used to play with Eric Clapton and it showed. His blues guitar was fluid and flawless. His fingers moved along the neck of his guitar as if they were one unit. His voice was thick and powerful. They rattled out some classics by the Stones, Eagles, Zeppelin, Neil Young, Cat Stevens. After each song, they were encored into another. We shouted out requests. Eventually the mood changed, and Mikey switched into a less serious mode, a traditional Bahamian song.

We drank all the rum
We smoke all de dope
All that was left was a little piece of roach
Ny ny ny….ny ny ny….ny ny ny
Ny ny ny….ny ny ny…nylon rope!

Stefan laugh was the most defining sound in the room, a smoke-rasped cackle that was contagious. His whole body heaved up and down as he laughed. We sat leaning against the back wall of the bar as Mikey strummed across from us. I sipped my Kalik beer and looked across the room at my husband, Dave. He was in deep conversation with another boater, a young man on the forefront of a trip around the world on his 42 ft ketch. He looked up and caught my eye, giving me that grin as if to say, Im rather enjoying myself at this moment.

The evening wore on, drinks were poured, songs were sung. At one point the entire bar struck up with Bye Bye Miss American Pie. Luckily someone in the crowd knew the lyrics well enough to cue us at the start of each verse. There was no noise ordinance, Im sure if anyone within hearing distance was listening, they would have joined us by now. The entire anchorage had their dinghy's ashore and were keeping company with each other this evening. Norman's Cay seemed to be the hub of the northern Exumas. Nothing on the island except an aged airstrip, a few houses on the north end and this bar and restaurant with a couple of villas, known as the Norman's Cay Beach Club, or MacDuffs. Word of mouth had passed through the boating community that there was cold beer on an otherwise deserted island. The establishment had been around for 15 years, loved by several owners, and they had a reputation. There was never a slow night, every day was a weekend.

The great thing about working at a bar where the only clientele is boaters or pilots, and being a boater myself, I always had something to talk to the customers about. I found that people would come in for happy hour and stay for a week. In our case it turned out to be more like 6 months. This evening as I looked around the bar, I could tell you everyone's story, as I had introduced myself to each of them at one point or another. Mikey we knew well. He was in every other week and usually stayed for a few days. His crew this time consisted of a friend from his past life in Chicago, his wife and his brother. There was a young couple from Boston, trying to make their way as far south as they could before hurricane season. A salty but distinguished looking sailor off of a beautiful catamaran, with a lovely younger woman sat at one quiet corner of the bar, immersed in conversation. There were three boisterous, well-to-do retired men and their wives on a large power yacht, down for a few days from Miami. Two Bahamians over from Nassau who were working on a housing project on the north end of the island came down to get off the jobsite for a bit. Everyone was scattered around the bar in their own separate conversations, but the evening had the feel of a group of people who might have known each other for years. That's how things were at The Beach Club.

As the guests slowly trickled out and Mikey's voice wore thin, we moved to the other side of the bar, pulling up a stool to finish the last remaning sips of our beer. The soft lantern lights above the bar began to sway gently in the breeze. We could smell the rain approaching. The sky rumbled overhead and the breeze cooled the stuffy bar through the screens that surrounded the mostly open-air building. The palms rustled outside. It started with a few drops...'Oh I hope we closed our hatches,' all of us boaters simutanelously fretted. Then the sky let loose as huge raindrops fell in torrents. They fell sideways, through the screens into the bar. The wind picked up and blew the blinds, whapping them on the wall. We scooted the cushioned seats away from the windows and cozied back up to the bar. Maybe just one more drink.

Pegasus at her peaceful anchorage at Norman's Cay

By the time the rain let up, it was late. Mikey, Tommy and his crew left to trek across the airstrip and down the road back to the Yamacraw which was tied up to the dock on the East end of the island. Stefan walked us part of the way down to the beach, saying his goodnight farewells as he left us at his villa. The air had cooled to a comfortable temperature, the breeze still rustled the sea grapes and the tall palms around the grounds, but the Exuma Sound was as calm as it ever was. The sky was dark, the only lights were from the villas shining across the water and the mast lights that dotted the anchorage. Pegasus was out there somewhere, I could pick out her flouresent anchor light hanging low from the boom. We never did get our mast light to work, causing us some stressful nights on occasion, wondering if large boats in high traffic areas would notice us. But here at Norman's Cay, there was no need to worry about night traffic. The dogs sniffed on the beach for a few minutes, methodically checking for anything out of place since the last time they had been there. Satisfied that things were in order, they hopped obediently into the dinghy. We pushed Two Buck Chuck into the water, it slid peacefully. I looked down to see phosperescence sparkling in the clear water below. Although it was black as night, you could still see the white sand five feet below the surface. Dave fired up the motor and we whizzed out into the quiet night. The phosperous made a shimmering line behind the dinghy. As we arrived at the boat, the quiet was more defined, except the low hum of the generator on shore that supplied all of the power to the villas and restaurant. The four of us scrambled on board. We secured the dinghy and climbed the squeeky stairs down below. We had closed the hatches and portlights, luckily, so we were spared a damp bed. But the interior smelled warm and musty. I opened the large hatches above and the light breeze scooped down into the cabin. I crawled into my bunk and cuddled in next to my husband as the dogs curled into their usual place at my feet. As I drifted off into a drousy slumber, I couldnt help but look forward to tomorrow, what kinds of characters I would meet and if it would be sunny or rainy, I was impartial. I was in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Just as I was about to doze off, Dave softly whispered into my ear..."It's good to be home."