I was excited to get this adventure started, when I heard Peter explain cheeseburgers were called for before heading back. He had to get the big broad back to Chalk’s and would return as soon as he could. My uncle and I didn’t blink an eye, as we knew the drill, but cheeseburgers first! We walked the short distance to Port Nelson, where to my left I spotted a large lake separated from the ocean by a narrow slice of beach.
“That’s Port Nelson Salt Lake,” Peter pointed out.
Upon entering Port Nelson, I noticed the lack of people. I saw a street sign in the shape of the island that read, “Kings HWY.” Next, we walked past a large white sign that said, “Welcome to Rum Cay, the Unspoilt Jewel of the Bahamas.” My eyes didn’t deceive me when we walked past yet another sign that read, “Ministry of Education, RUM CAY. All Age School.”
“Lots of signs,” I joked, still not seeing any humans.
“Their way of trying to seem legitimate,” Peter deadpanned.
“A- for effort,” my uncle added.
We made it to the marina, but another sign said it was closed. Peter scratched his head and said, “Follow me.”
We did and we made a right toward a small row of shacks that dotted the beachfront. There we found a shack that served food. The sign outside read, “Last chance…”
I was starting to feel as if I was in the B-movie horror flick “Blood Beach,” as the population was zero. Images of us disappearing under the sandy beach, never to be seen again flashed across my mind. But upon entering the floorless shack, I was relieved to find a tanned and smiling hostess at a bar. Two hammered sailors at the far end eyed us with skepticism.
“Cheeseburgers?” Peter asked.
“No, fried fish sandwiches,” said the hostess.
“We’ll take three, three beers, and three shots of rum.”
“You got it, big guy,” shouted the hostess.
I was grateful Peter was a large man, easier to fight off trouble. We found a tabletop across from the bar as the shots and beers were swiftly delivered.
“I love Rum Cay,” Peter insisted. “Less than fifty people live here.”
“Perfect,” my uncle quipped. “Cheers!”
Shots and beer were consumed as we celebrated the tangible piracy vibe. I scanned the white beach and the crystal-clear turquoise ocean before my eyes, not believing my luck.
Gotta get back to my coconut concoctions . . .
This column is part of an ongoing story of tales from the past that continues each month. Read Josh’s previous columns here:
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: January 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: February 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: March 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: April 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: May 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: June 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: July 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: August 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: September 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: October 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: November 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: December 2019
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: January 2020
- Adventures of a Modern Pirate: March 2020