|The play ground of Independent Boat Yard|
As we are leaving the dock on Independent boat yard I make a recall of our last three days in the milky and gelatinous waters of the lagoon. The pollution shows up better around the mangroves where if one stares at it for too long, it seems like some king of monster will surface. The no-see-ums and mosquitoes are by far the biggest population of wild life in the area, and they feed right at dusk. By that time we were all sheltered inside with screens on the port lights and hatches. But still, a few would find their way in and stick their teeth on us. "Just mind blowing".
|The milky water of the lagoon|
I always thought that Compass Point Marina was a funky place, but Independence Boat Yard got the gold medal on the Olympics of funkiness. We like the docks there though, but I dared to walk on that old wood and it took me a 15 minute surgery to get that splinter off my toe. The boats on the slips don't go out very often. Their owners are constantly working to put the dream together. We talked to a guy one night for a little bit and his conversations went on and on about his gloom and doom idea of the world. We had just met him and I thought we were going to have a fight. And that, dear friends, has been going on a lot this season with a lot of people that we had just meet!
The happening place in the yard is the bar-restaurant. Every day at 5 o' clock the creatures of the lagoon meet there to have several drinks. Sometimes we were coming back from swimming, half pass five and the volume of the voices has gone up and crazy. We stopped by one night to buy some ice and the alcohol was yelling "Fs" up loud. On the wall of the bar there is a white flag with funky little guys dancing and letters across reading: become a lagoonie. My anxiety increased to a 100 %.
In the mornings, after the no-see-ums ease up a little, we go for a walk on the dock, just to see what live-a-boards have come up with. Floating houses tied to D and C dock with air conditioning, propane tank out side, attic, you name it. I think pictures show better than words.
As we finally pulled away from the slip I started to feel less claustrophobic. "I don't want to be another creature of the lagoon. I'm a sailor, I belong with the ocean". Then I reminded Jim, who was loving the ambiance, that phrase he repeats all the time: "Men and boats rotten at the dock". But not this boat, Jim, not this boat. We headed south, to Christmas Cove, two miles away, is just a start, right?