Bruce got out the maps and charts and the book on
We nodded our heads with the exception of Winnie and Sheila, who still sat in a corner, nursing their seasickness. Although I hadn’t been ill, it was exhausting trying to stay still on the bed when the boat tried its hardest to toss me across the mattress.
While some of the crew jumped into the dinghy to go explore the island, I sat on the deck of the bow and shot birds. Well, I attempted to shoot birds. Mostly all I got were pictures of the sky, of the sparkling waters of the
Another catamaran glided in, flying the flapping banners of sickness in the form of bed sheets. They had even hauled up the mattress and tied it on deck. Unfortunately, a gust of wind sent if flying into the water and they had to jump in their dinghy and fish it out.
A man paddled his kayak out from a nearby caye and invited us to have drinks at his little bar. We declined. He chatted with Bruce for a while. “Where’d you spend last night during the Northerly?”
“Whipray Caye,” Bruce answered.
His eyes widened. “Well, I guess you got pretty beat-up.”
“Yeah, that’s why we’re here tonight.”
The man scanned the sky. “We’re in the lull. It should be pretty good tonight and tomorrow, but the northerly should hit again the next night,” he advised.
Black clouds gathered overhead, but a rainbow cheered us. When everyone returned to the boat, the bar on board opened. It was rum and Coke night. Becky and Nelson made lasagna, warmed bread and tossed a salad.