A Sudden Trip to the Bahamas

This post is late because I just returned from a fishing trip to Grand Cay, Abaco, Bahamas with my two boys and my friend, Larry. Larry has been going to Grand Cay for well over 20 years, and he has a number of Bahamians friends there.

The trip was a short notice thing. Mike and I got a call from Larry on Sunday, July 22, that he was thinking of going. On Monday he said it was a definite go or Wednesday. On Tuesday, Mike and I drove six hours to Tallahassee to pick up Jake, and then the three of us drove four and a half hours to Larry’s house in Clearwater.

It was strange to be Pinellas County again after nearly 11 months away. The traffic, congestion and construction were as horrible as I remembered it. We had time to drive by our old house. Curiously, even though I spent 34 years living in that house and raised a family there, I felt no real affinity or sentimentality for the place. Even the kids felt that way. I guess we’ve moved on.

We stayed the night at Larry’s house and got up at 4:30 am to tow his boat, a 32 foot Contender, to West Palm Beach where we launched. It’s 109 miles to Grand Cay, the seas were 3-4 feet, and we hit a couple of rainstorms on the way over. It took us four and a half hours to get there. When you’re bouncing in an open boat doing close to 40 miles an hour in a rainstorm with sea spray coming over the rails the only thing you can do is hunker down and go to that happy place inside until you get to where you are going.

Of course, we had a blast in the Bahamas. We fished and dove on coral heads to spear fish during the day. Mike and Jake spent the evenings chasing the daughters of other people who were visiting the island. By the time we left, all the bartenders and DJs knew them by name, and they had been unofficially adopted by Frankie, the Bahamian fishing guide who always drops everything to guide Larry when he comes over. Frankie is The Dude on Grand Cay, and he kept telling people that he was Jake’s and Mike’s uncle from another mother.

Grand Cay is a small island no more than a mile long and a couple of hundred yards wide. About 450 people live there. There are no roads on the island, but there is an eight foot wide concrete path down the center for those fortunate enough to own golf carts. The path even has a couple of speed bumps. I know that because I tripped over them every night on my way back to my room.

There are a couple of small hotels on the island, a marina, several restaurants, and four or five bars. It’s all very low key and not fancy. The power comes from generators and the water from a desalinization plant on the island. Everything else―food, supplies, building materials, etc.―is barged in twice a week from Freeport.

The Boss Hog on the island is Rosie, a reported former drug runner. Rosie owns the marina, a hotel, a restaurant and a bar. He now makes his money legitimately by catering to sports fisherman large sport fishing boats who come to the island from the States. Rosie owns his own barge to supply his little empire and bring fuel to his marina which he sells at exorbitant rates to fishermen.

In many respects Grand Cay is a small town like Blue Ridge. It has a little school and a small government building. I’m told there is a policeman on the island, but I’ve never seen him.

I’m afraid that Grand Cay will lose its quiet Bahamian charm in the coming years. It’s been discovered by wealthy people from the States. A couple of homes have been built recently by well-to-do Americans, and I suspect that more will be built in the future. 

We came back to Florida on Sunday, July 27. It was a marathon day. We left Grand Cay at 6:30 in the morning and made it to the dock in West Palm in three hours. The seas were two feet or less, and there was no rain. We were back in Clearwater by early afternoon. After helping Larry clean the boat, Jake, Mike and I drove to Tallahassee. We got there around 8:00 in the evening. The next day Mike and I drove back to Blue Ridge.

It’s good to be back in the mountains where the air is cool and fresh, the scenery is green, and stoplights are rare. I think that ends my excursions to Florida for the year, and I'm looking forward to getting back in a comfortable routine. 

On another note, my garden has been producing prodigiously. Meredith has canned at least 20 jars of tomato sauce and frozen at least 10 pounds of green beans. Just before Mike and I left for the Bahamas we picked almost 50 pounds of cabbage which Meredith made into sauerkraut. Last night we ate the first ears of sweet corn from the garden. Not bad for my first big garden in Georgia. I’m focusing now on what I will grow in my fall garden.

Blue Ridge Has A Parking Issue

I don’t know whether this is true in all rural counties, but local politics is the main spectator sport for many people in Fannin County. It’s no wonder. Much of the time it’s like watching a Mack Sennett comedy.

At the state and national level, the politics of this place is really conservative. Fannin County voted overwhelmingly for Romney in the last presidential election. It is rare to see an Obama sticker on a car with a Fannin County license plate. Most of the bumper stickers on local cars and trucks are pro-Second Amendment, pro-Life, pro-religion, anti-Obama, and anti-government. Instead of a Coexist sticker, you are more likely to see a Kill Them All sticker. “Don’t Tread On Me” appears to be the dominant theme.

That should be no surprise. The independent, anti-government, stay out of my business attitude exhibited in these parts goes back a long ways. The Scotch-Irish hill people who populated this area left their homelands to escape British tyranny and British excise taxes on their whiskey. In the Civil War many southern mountain people supported the Union. Some did so out of patriotism for the Union but many were rebelling against the oppressive and intrusive hand of the Confederate government. It wasn’t that they preferred to be governed by Washington rather than Richmond as much as they didn’t want much government at all.

Local politics is not driven by party affiliation. That’s probably because a liberal Democrat does not have a snowball’s chance in hell of being elected. Thus, local elections always pit one conservative against another, and local political issues seem to be driven by conflict between the old-timers and the new arrivals and new ideas versus the old way of doing things.

The most recent hubbub in the City of Blue Ridge was over parking. Blue Ridge has become a tourist destination for people from Atlanta and elsewhere, particularly Florida, who visit to enjoy the weather, the scenery, the lake, the train and the downtown.

The brouhaha started when the Downtown Merchants Association started talking about the need to create more parking in the downtown to handle the tourists. (I don’t want you to get the idea that because the merchants chose to identify themselves as the Downtown Merchants Association there are uptown merchants. This is not Gotham City. The entire downtown and uptown of Blue Ridge consists of four streets about six blocks long.)

A new city councilmember, Angi Arp, reacted by placing a half page ad in the local paper saying that the city needed more revenue to address the parking issue and suggested that the city put in parking meters. I have no idea why she raised the idea in such a public manner. What followed can only be described as a huge shit storm. It appears that Ms. Arp was the only person in North America who thought that placing parking meters in downtown Blue Ridge was a good idea.

The merchants association countered with a full page ad saying that Arp’s parking meter idea would drive off tourists, be bad for business and cause the demise of western civilization as we know it. To paraphrase Chevy Chase in his old Saturday Night Live routine, the ad all but shouted, “Angi, you ignorant slut.”

Arp, realizing she had stepped in it, beat a hasty retreat by publishing a conciliatory ad saying that she was willing to work with all facets of the community to address the parking problem in a way that benefited all city residents. The ad was her version of Rodney King’s “can’t we all get along” speech.

Both sides seem to agree there is a parking problem in downtown Blue Ridge. As far as I can tell, this conclusion is based on subjective judgment rather than a professional traffic study which is the accepted way that traffic and parking issues are identified by planning professionals.

I’m not sure what the exact nature of the parking problem is. Is the problem that tourists may have to walk a block or two to get to the downtown stores or the train on a normal day? Is the problem that there is not enough parking spaces to accommodate a thousand cars when there is a weekend festival? To me, these are two vastly different problems requiring different solutions.

All I know is I have never encountered a problem finding a parking space in downtown Blue Ridge. But then I don’t expect to be able to park right in front of my intended destination, and I don’t mind walking a block or two to get where I’m going. In fact, I enjoy walking in the downtown. It brings a smile to my face to walk down the streets of a small town with a park in the middle, benches on the sidewalks, and a feed store with a big turkey out front.

I assume that the small town experience is part of the reason tourists come to Blue Ridge. If they want to shop without leaving their seats I suggest they use the internet. If they want to experience a small town without moving a muscle I suggest they watch reruns of the Andy Griffith Show.

That being said, I’ve observed some fat assed tourists waddling down the local streets. I’ve seen some butts big enough to cause a solar eclipse. Thus, I have no trouble believing that some downtown merchants have received complaints about the parking from out of shape tourists who think that getting up to find the TV remote is exercise. The question is whether lazy overweight tourists constitute a parking problem.

I don’t know how this perceived issue will be resolved. All I know is that parking meters, parking garages, or shuttle parking from remote parking lots will start to change this town from what it is into something I was trying to escape in moving here. I like Blue Ridge the way it is, and if that means walking a couple of blocks to get where I’m going, I’m fine with that.

Personal note: The next post will be delayed. A last minute chance arose for my two boys and me to go to a small island in the Bahamas on a friend’s boat for a few days fishing. You got to have your priorities when you’re retired!

Florida and the Fourth of July

Sorry for the discombobulated nature of this blog lately. Things have been busy here.

I just returned from a week’s vacation in Florida. Yeah, I took a vacation from my retirement…what a concept. Now that I’m back I need a couple of days to rest up before I can get back to my regular retirement. I need to start pacing myself. This retirement life can wear a man down.

My two sons and I visited some very dear friends in Florida who have a house near the mouth of the Weeki Wachee. We spent several days scalloping and fishing. I had a great time being with my kids and my friends.

It was wonderful to be back in Florida and on the water. One of my favorite things when I lived in Florida was to be out on the Gulf in a boat as the sun rose in the east illuminating the offshore thunderheads in a ruddy glow. You can hear the distant rumble of thunder over the water and see the far off flashes of lightening deep within the clouds.

After a few days in Weeki Wachee we drove up to Tallahassee and spent a day fishing off Carabelle. Jake, my oldest son, knows the fishing in this area, and he put us on kingfish in the morning and redfish in the afternoon. In the process my other son, Mike, hooked onto a five foot long bull shark and wrestled it to the boat after an epic 45 minute struggle.

I don’t regret the decision to leave Florida and move to North Georgia. I’m making new friends and having new and different experiences here, and I guess that’s the objective of life. That being said, one of the things I miss about Florida is the fishing and the time spent on the water. I’m sorry bass fishermen, but there is nothing to compare with saltwater fishing.

Before heading off to Florida, I participated in the Blue Ridge Old Timer’s Fourth of July Parade. It was classic small town America. The streets were lined with families. The kids were waving small American flags. You could smell the motherhood and apple pie in the air.

I walked alongside the Feed Fannin float in my bib overalls and beat up straw hat. As you might have guessed, the Feed Fannin float was a large flatbed trailer decorated with bunting and hauled by a tractor.

I think anyone who wanted to was allowed to march or drive in the parade. I’m pretty sure every fire truck and ambulance in the county was in the parade. All the local politicians participated. The County Sheriff and the Town’s Police Chief rode in the parade. Quite a number of classic cars got in the act including an old Model A Ford pickup truck.

The Feed Fannin float was near the front of the parade. The town crier, dressed in colonial garb complete with a tricorner hat, walked behind us. I don’t know whether he is the official town crier but he’s done it for so many years that the position seems to be his by default.

Immediately ahead of our float there was a flatbed truck with a giant red, white and blue chicken on it. At least I think it was a chicken. If not, it was the worst bald eagle replica I have ever seen. I have no idea what the significance of the giant chicken is, but I understand that it is a hallmark of the parade. Its origins are probably lost in history.

The local contingent of civil war reenactors―all seven of then―showed up and marched in the parade. They were behind the town crier. They were dressed in old confederate clothing, and a few had scraggly beards. Every block or so they would fire a volley from their muskets startling the crowd and causing babies to burst into tears.

Some distance behind our float was the Democratic Party float. Until then I wasn’t sure there was an organized Democratic Party in Fannin County. Eighty percent of the county voted for Romney in the last election. As far as I know, no one threw eggs or rotten tomatoes at the Democrats so it was a peaceful affair and a tribute to the tolerance and good nature of rural folk.

I’m glad the Democrats’ float was a ways behind us. They had a loud tape player on the float that played endless variations by multiple artists of “This Land is Your Land” by Woody Guthrie. I know that because the Dems built their float in the same warehouse Feed Fannin used. By the eighteenth repetition of the song I was ready to go over and and do great violence to that tape player.

Even the local Tea Party participated in the parade. They weren’t that organized and did not have a float. If I had to guess I’d say the idea to march in the parade was a last minute idea for the Tea Party. They marched just in front of the civil war reenactors and every now and then the two groups would mingle together. It was hard to tell the reenactors from the Tea Party people when that happened.

I’m told the local Republican Party had a float, but it was located toward the rear of the parade, and I didn’t get a chance to see it.

Downtown Blue Ridge is about eight blocks long and located in a saddle of land with train tracks running down the middle. On the east side of the tracks is East Main Street, East First Street, and East Second Street. On the west side of the tracks is West Main Street, West First Street, and West Second Street. The town’s founding fathers were either unimaginative or liked simplicity I guess.

The parade route was down East First Street, two left turns and up West Main. (It’s not like the parade’s organizers had much choice given the configuration of the town.) The parade ended two blocks west of where it started. If we had wanted to we could have made a couple of turns and gone around the parade route again.

All in all, it was a great experience being in a small town Fourth of July parade. The nation’s founding fathers would have been happy.