When was the last time we spent several days at sea? Over three months ago when we crossed the Atlantic. Time to warm up our sea legs again, because it’s three full days to the Bahamas. At least if we leave the Dominican Republic on the left and the Turks and Caicos Islands on the right.

Sea legs are urgently needed. The wind is blowing well and the waves show no mercy to us sailors, who wedge ourselves in and hold on tight with every movement. After the first night we were expecting an emergency stop in the Dominican Republic, but now we are in rhythm and Nikola is making good speed – despite the second reef in the mainsail. We fly past a large bay where many other boats are waiting for better weather. The scenery of Hispaniola is impressive. In the mountains of Haiti there is lightning, as if Zeus himself was sitting in the clouds. We surf on wave crests that glow in the dark and reach Great Inagua in good time before the weather gets even worse. We are satisfied with 166 nautical miles in 24 hours.

Salt and flamingos in Great Inagua

We anchor at a round island and hoist the Bahamas guest flag. The island itself may not be particularly inviting, but the water definitely is. So far, we have always jumped into the water after arriving at an overnight stop to make sure the anchor is well and safely positioned. We can save that for the next few weeks. You can see the chain and anchor well and dry from the bow for miles.

First we have to wait out the strong winds and are stuck for a few days. Time enough for a trip to see the flamingos, hundreds of which live in the salt lagoons. But the bad wind seems to have driven them away. We only occasionally see some standing and flying around, lost in the area.

As the wind blows flakes of salt foam through the broken car windows and we learn more about the island. Salt production characterizes life and nature here. After all, it is the second largest salt mine in North America. According to the locals, you can also sometimes meet adventurers in the limestone caves who hide there for weeks on end in search of forgotten pirate treasures.

After two days, the wind is a little calmer and we continue our journey. The rolling at anchor becomes too much for us and food is in short supply. The mail boat was here two days ago and the only store is almost empty. Bananas are still a long time coming. Unfortunately, our departure means we miss the highlight of the week: in the evening, four basketball teams from the surrounding islands arrive for a big match. We would have loved to join the 900-strong community of spectators.

Off the grid in the Ragged Islands

The Ragged Islands are a remote chain of islands in southwestern Bahamas. Except for Duncan Town, a village with about 70 inhabitants, the islands are deserted. At Hog Cay, we get used to Bahamian life: a few boats next to us, a sandy beach in front of us, and a transparent sea all around. Hog Cay also has a fire pit and a well-equipped shelter. So the midday heat doesn’t keep us from painting and doing sports on the beach. When we do jump into the water to cool off, we share it with stingrays, turtles, starfish and nurse sharks. In the evening, the fire crackles and attracts two other sailing families with pots and pans to the beach for dinner. The sunsets are fabulous.

A little later and a few nautical miles further on, we anchor in Raccoon Cay to wait out a thunderstorm. At first we are alone, but then another sailboat joins us in the bay. We combine forces and experience with its crew and soon the first lobsters land in our bucket and more boats arrive. On land we can admire ospreys sitting on a branch just 50 meters from our boat, looking for food. The other side of the coin, or the island, presents a slightly different picture: when walking on the windward side of the islands, we repeatedly find bays littered with garbage. The sight reminds us how fleeting the idyll is and quickly catapults us back into man-made reality.

The next jump takes us to Water Cay. Just as picturesque, just as peaceful. We take the dinghy to a blue hole, of which there are several in the area. Circular holes of varying depths in the sandstone floor invite us to explore. Back at the anchorage, we suspect a swimmer in the water, but it turns out to be a huge, probably ancient turtle with a head the size of a soccer ball. This time, our anchor neighbor is a sailing coffee roaster with an impressive repertoire of coffee grinders and machines. It’s a shame that we have to set off at dawn to reach the next island in daylight. So we have to turn down the invitation for what is sure to be a very good coffee.