Across The Stream

This was the moment we’d been waiting for. Behind us had been an extraordinary journey down the American East Coast on our Snow Goose, a time to experience different states and cultures; spend time in sweet towns, quiet anchorages, rivers, marshes, and estuaries; and meet people who had opened their hearts to us. Ahead was the Bahamas, the goal that had fed our imaginations for almost three years.

In Palm Beach, we waited six days for weather to cross the 56 miles over to an archipelago made up of some 700 coral islands. On the glassy morning of January 30, 2023, we pushed off with the sunrise, making the 21/2 miles to the Palm Beach Inlet on an outgoing tide. A little roll-y at first, we had to weave between shipping and fishing traffic, and steered clear.

Out on the open water, our world flattened perfectly. There was almost no wind as we chugged toward the mighty Gulf Stream. Tenley wore seasickness bands but had no problems, too fascinated by the color change of the stream to deep, dark blue as we slid into it. It was fun to see her on the bow with binoculars on the lookout for islands. By 1 p.m., she called, “Land ahoy!” West End was in sight.

This was the exciting pinnacle of a long journey. Tenley had only been to the Bahamas once, 20 years earlier. It’s one of my favorite places in the world. The crystal clear water and white sand bottom is wonderful for swimming, snorkeling, and especially for photography and filming. There are dolphins, rays, turtles, all kinds of life, and I love the people. Bahamians are the best, so friendly, particularly in the Family Islands, as locals call them.

We cleared immigration and customs at West End, ate aboard, and slept in that beautiful, warm calm. The next day we made our way across the dramatic Little Bahama Bank. The clear water appears bright turquoise and green on these shoals, only 10 or 12 feet in most places. It was a millpond, the sky and water blending into a beautiful gradation of colors and textures. I couldn’t stop shooting.

We anchored at Great Sale Cay and had a swim, my first long swim of the trip, and the pressures and efforts it had taken to get here began to unwind in me as I floated. That night, under a great big moon, we slept contented. The next day, February 1, we sailed to Double Breasted Cay in the Abacos in water so clear it was easy to weave through the shallow banks. An American sportfisherman gave us a wahoo to barbecue for dinner. We set two anchors, a Bahamian moor, and another great moon filled the peaceful night. It was exactly where we wanted to be. I must have slept 10 hours.

At Green Turtle Cay, Tenley fell in love with the little village built by British Loyalists during the Revolutionary War, all the buildings bleached white. Rainy weather held us at Green Turtle for four nights. But we didn’t mind. We rented golf carts and had fun exploring the island.

I’d been carrying a $5 Bahamian bill that I had gotten as change when I was in Bimini many years ago shooting a boat for Jimmy Buffett. I saved that bill, hoping I’d get back here someday with Tenley and spend it. We went to Miss Emily’s Blue Bee Bar, where $5 Bahamian didn’t quite buy a whole drink but did get us most of the way to a Goombay Smash.

We met Americans and South Africans, all good people. I filmed local Bahamian kids playing hoops. On Sunday, the weather was still rainy, so we put on foul weather gear and took a golf cart to the Church of God, filmed the Reverend Reuben at work, and met so many wonderful people. We really liked that island, which had been hurt badly by Hurricane Dorian; but they’re working hard to bring it back.

Bahamas Idyll

At Great Guana Cay we anchored in 6 feet on sand along with a bunch of sailing catamarans, and had drinks at Nipper’s, where we’d brought our kids 20 years earlier. Next we called at Man-O-War Cay. I love the boatbuilding legacy there, where generations of the Albury family have been building their famous smacks, sloops, and schooners. One afternoon, this 80-year-old fellow sails by with his girlfriend in a cute little catboat, and calls, “Cocktails at my house, 5 o’clock!”

Tenley called back, “Which is your house?” He pointed it out. At 5 p.m. we walked into his house, and there was a guy from Jamestown, Rhode Island, our home port. Turns out our kids went to school together.

At Elbow Cay we took our bikes ashore and rode to dinner at a little restaurant called On Da Beach. Riding back on a dirt road in the dark we heard music. The Seaspray Resort was hosting the Hopetown Music and Rum Festival. We stopped, listening to the music in the warm night. It felt like young love, my wife and I swaying to island music in a warm breeze. Tenley picked up a bottle of Pindrop Fine Rum, and we rode 2 miles back in the dark, folded the bikes, loaded up the dink, and went to sleep on the Goose feeling full with the evening’s adventure.

We watched the Super Bowl at Pete’s Pub in Little Harbour while we waited for a weather window to head to Spanish Wells. The pub is attached to a working foundry started in 1952, now carried forward by the next generation of Johnson family artists. We visited their gallery of bronze lost-wax castings. A poignant one captured me. “The Nine Ages of Man” depicted a figure climbing the hill of life with gusto, reaching the top, then ebbing his way down the other side.

On February 13, in gorgeous weather, we crossed to Spanish Wells. The beauty of these beaches must be seen to be believed – pale turquoise water lapping up on powdery white sand. In Current Cut, a nice couple invited us for conch fritters on their Blue Catalyst. We stopped at Glass Window Bridge and Hatchet Bay, my 94th night on Snow Goose. We ate delicious grouper at French Leave in Governor’s Bay and bought homegrown greens, bread, and preserves at a farmer’s market. Slowly we meandered to Highborne Cay, then Norman’s Cay in the Exumas, always with the breeze about 5 knots out of the south. Just lovely.

Life catches up with me

After hours of snorkeling these crystal clear waters, seeing kaleidoscopes of fish and dramatic coral heads, I celebrated my 67th birthday at Norman’s Cay. I noticed that I was needing a nap in the afternoons. My appetite wasn’t great either. I blamed the heat.

On February 25, we moved over to Shroud Cay, had a great dink ride up Sanctuary Creek to see turtles and rays, and went to Washing Machine, where you can jump in the water and get carried out to sea in the current. Heinrich and Brent, a couple who crewed a boat on which I’d once spent two weeks in Greenland, came calling. They joined us aboard Snow Goose for a beer and invited us to their 55-footer Joyant for a steak dinner. It was so great to catch up, but I could barely eat the steak.

I swam in the morning and hiked Boo Boo Hill on Warderick Wells Cay before running the boat down to pick up a mooring at O’Brien’s Cay. This heat was wearing me out, and I felt exhausted. Still, Tenley and I snorkeled, then enjoyed a serene night with no wind under a half-moon.

The yacht club at Staniel Cay was full of good food and fun people. But I couldn’t even make it to the grocery store without stopping. I’d lost weight, but chalked that up to all the work I’d done on the boat. Tenley thought I was dehydrated, so I drank more water. But I couldn’t eat and began to feel like I’d had enough of the Bahamas.

We pushed farther south for a few days. At Little Farmer’s Cay I photographed local fishermen and kids cleaning fish in a village of 55 people. Then Black Point on day 107, March 4. We’d put 2,067 miles on the boat since we left Newport in October. On day 109, we were back in Staniel Cay. By then, each night I went to bed thinking, I’ll sleep well and wake up feeling better. I don’t know how many nights I thought that until, eventually, one day Tenley said that my eyes were yellow and my skin looked jaundiced. With sunglasses and a tan we hadn’t really noticed it. I’d been peeing overboard, so hadn’t seen the color of my urine. My skin was itchy, but I’d thought it was from swimming in saltwater.

Tenley said, “Something’s wrong. We need to call the doctor.” This was my 110th day aboard the boat. We called our doctor at home on the satellite phone and told him that I must have food poisoning, or hepatitis, or something. He asked a bunch of questions, then said, “Go to Nassau. Now. Find the hospital. Get a CT scan. This is urgent. Don’t waste any more time.”

What are the odds?

I had no morbid thoughts. I figured we could get to Nassau in a day if I kept the boat off the bottom. There I’d get the drugs I needed or an injection, and get this sorted out. At Doctors Hospital in Nassau, Dr. Tamal Carroll put me through tests and a CT scan. Within that day, he diagnosed me with pancreatic cancer and advised me to get back home immediately to be treated.

On March 6, 2023, we left Snow Goose in a Nassau marina and flew home to be evaluated at Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston. They confirmed the Nassau diagnosis, initiated three long rounds of aggressive chemotherapy to shrink the cancer, and told me its location made me eligible for a Whipple procedure in several months to remove part of my pancreas – a difficult surgery that may or may not be a cure, but it was my best hope.

When I’d heard my diagnosis in Nassau, I’d said to Tenley, “I’ve had a great life. I’ve climbed all my mountains. The kids are all in good places in their lives and happy. I’m fortunate and grateful for the life I’ve had.” That was true. It was also true that our whole trip down the ICW and over to the Bahamas had been magical and beautiful, and I’m just so glad we pushed forward and did it. Turns out, our timing had been perfect. Snow Goose had given our lives a priceless intensity that we were always too busy at home to experience.

When we face our mortality, we dwell over what we’ve done in our lives. I felt lucky to have had 37 incredible years in a creative career. But mostly I felt grateful for my family and for Tenley, the best partner I could imagine.

Life takes us from such robust certainty one minute to shocking uncertainty the next. I felt like that figure in “The Nine Ages of Man” sculpture in Little Harbour. I’d climbed the hill with gusto and was now somewhere well along the back side of my journey. That’s life. Looking back, though, I know for certain that Tenley and I are grateful that we reached for a dream.