Thursday, July 10th. 8:45am Pics are up on Flickr.
Any time I’m near the ocean, at least facing east across the Atlantic, I have a hard time sleeping through the sunrise. Now, a part of this may be because we didn’t stay out too late last night listening to “The Gully Roosters” over at Green Turtle Club, but with an east-facing french door in the master bedroom here at Tranquility, it’s difficult to sleep through the sunrise.
For me, at least. Andie has just gotten up, and Jenni is still sleeping. I’m inclined to let her sleep as long as she wants, after having had such trouble towards the end of the school year.
And, of course, with no newspaper to read, no NPR Morning Edition to catch up on, and an absolute refusal to turn on the TV for anything other than The Weather Channel to track Bertha … why not take some pics.
Just checked, BTW. It looks as if Bertha is still forecast to pass east of Bermuda. We might see some waves here, but that’d be about it. Hopefully not so big that the dive boat has to stay in the dock tomorrow and Saturday.
Where was I …
As the sun came up over the Atlantic this morning, peeking through the clouds that constantly dot the horizon, the sky dissolved through an amazing spectrum of colors. Starting with grays and muted purples with just a hint of pink in the upper stratus clouds, then more of a rose-colored glow to the sky as the sun crossed the horizon up into those low clouds. Streaks of muted orange and pink shone through, interspersed with the shadows of the clouds, until finally, the sky was the trademark Caribbean blue. As the sun came higher, the water, too, went through a transformation from gray to blue to turquoise. As more light filtered down through the water to reflect off the sand below, the patchwork of darker blues emerged as the corals and grasses absorbed more of the suns’ light.
In probably about the amount of time it takes to tell, full daylight is on us, and the heat of the day begins to build. As I look across now, I can see the waves breaking maybe a half mile offshore as a low tide exposes the reefs so prevalent in these islands. They’re what make it such a premier dive destination, and so dangerous to boats.
On the dive boat yesterday, as we were getting gear stowed and set up on our tanks, one of the other divers asked where we were from. They were from Jacksonville. They’d brought their ketch down from Jax to Lauderdale, made the 10 hour crossing over to Grand Bahama Island, and then spent several days island hopping around to where our paths crossed at Brendal’s Dive Center on a tiny little speck of an island in the Atlantic Ocean.
He recognized my voice. *sigh* I wonder if that’s as odd for him as it is for me. Andie said he probably wasn’t expecting to hear his radio on the dive boat, and she’s probably right.
So, Alex, if you’re reading this at some point, don’t forget to make a pledge to your favorite public radio station.
Today, we’re invited to sail down to No Name Cay with Brendal for the Bahamian Independence Day celebration. For me, the sailing will be celebration enough. I haven’t been on a sailboat with Jenni since we sold Creola, and I’m looking forward to this as much as tomorrow’s diving.
I’ll leave you with this.
Driving the golf cart resort transportation home from Green Turtle Club last night, we kept hearing a scuttling sound in the scrub just to the side of the road. We’d seen lots of roosters and I know there have to be feral cats and other things that live on the island, but we really weren’t expecting this.
I know there’s nothing for perspective, but this guy was about as big as a dessert plate … and he was NOT happy that we’d stopped in the middle of the road, shining lights on him to take his picture.
You might even say he was pretty crabby about the whole thing.
Or you might not … but I would.