For me, an island vacation is all about the beaches. Cat Island not only met my requirements (just with the few beaches we did manage to visit, barely touching the wide range of beaches circling the island), it exceeded them. Fernandez Bay's beach was lovely enough, but the others were equally enchanting and uninhabited.
Our first venture was by ocean kayak, south past Fernandez Bay, past two tiny sandy coves, 'round Naked Point, to Skinny Dip Beach. Get the picture? This beach can only be accessed by boat, as it is cut off from the island by Bonefish Creek. Embraced by ironshore outcroppings, and backed by more coral rock, the beach was about 50 yards long. White sand, crystal blue water, and no one here but us. Although there were rocks along the water's edge, there were clear spots from which we could make our way into the warm, buoyant sea, for swimming as well as for snorkeling around Naked Point (decent snorkeling, but not spectacular). We liked this beach so much, we returned for a second visit, despite the energy required to paddle over and despite our general state of indolence.
The effort of getting to Skinny Dip Beach by kayak is amply rewarded by white sand, clear water, and not another soul in sight.
On another day, we tackled kayaking Bonefish Creek for the promise of another beach at its outlet. The creek divides into channels and dead ends, meandering through the mangroves; we were told to keep going right, and eventually caught on to a rudimentary system of channel markings that kept us from going too far astray. Though we didn't know how far we had to go, when we heard the sound of open water, and felt the slight resistance of current, we knew we didn't have far to go. Before we reached Exuma Sound, we found an area of small dunes and beaches in the creek itself, as well as sand bars at low tide. We beached the kayak and explored, finding lots of tiny shells. With the sun shining on the crystal water and white sand, the effect was dazzling.
Showing off our paddling prowess (OK, Rick actually does have some skills; I'm pretty much along for the ride...)
Later, we exited the creek and found ourselves on a small, rock strewn beach facing Exuma Sound. Alone again. The water was shallow and the bottom sandy, not reaching waist depth until some distance beyond the beach. As we waded in the warm water, I heard a telltale crunch underfoot that could only mean one thing: sand dollars! We ran back to the beach, grabbed our snorkels and masks (fins not required in such shallow, buoyant waters), and started diving for sand dollars, scoring a dozen fine specimens, leaving the live ones alone. This was not great snorkeling in the traditional sense, but it was as fun as a treasure hunt. Alas, only 7 sand dollars survived the trip home; it would have been a better count had our carry-on bags not been checked luggage on the Cat Island Air flight home.
Mid-week, we made our big excursion to Fine Bay, on the Atlantic Ocean side of Cat Island. The day did not look promising, and it rained all morning. But we were determined to go to the beach, having heard about its pink sand splendor, and finally took off in the FBV van with Donna around 11. We drove a few miles north on paved roads, then turned off onto a sand track, bumping and grinding along for a few more miles. We passed farm plots growing corn and papayas, and some houses under construction, but that gave way to lush vegetation, green and dense and fragrant, as the track grew rougher and bumpier. Finally, we reached
a grassy clearing just big enough for the van to turn around on, and faced a tall dune covered in sea grass. The roar of the ocean told us we were at the right place.
We scrambled over the top of the dune, then climbed and slid and skidded down it to the wide, flat, hard-packed pink beach which ran for miles. Again, not a soul in sight, though it wasn't an especially inspiring day for it. There was a stiff onshore breeze, and rain clouds gathering on the southeastern horizon. Nevertheless, we gamely planted a beach umbrella, parked our cooler, and hit the sand. Like most other windward beaches in the Bahamian archipelago, the brush along the bottom of the dunes was littered with flotsam and jetsam. Long ago, I learned that this "garbage" is not evidence of the islanders' lack of care, but evidence of how all humans are contributing to trashing the seas, as most of it comes from ships way offshore. Like our search for sand dollars, combing through the flotsam can also be a treasure hunt. Our fellow guests had found a trove of glass fish floats on these beaches over the years (I found a pair of aluminum ones, which I didn't bother picking up), and Tony had told of finding bottles with messages in them from foreign shores.
Our treasure hunting was short-lived, as the rain squalls started rolling in. But rather than hide under the umbrella, which offered meager protection anyway, we decided to go swimming. We were getting wet from the rain, and the seawater was warmer than the rain, so why not? Seas were in the 6-8 foot range as they crashed onto the outer reef, but by the time the reef was done with them, were in the 2-4 foot range as they came onto the beach. They would have been ideal for body-surfing had there been more sandy area to ride them, but the bottom changed from sand to flat coral rock only a few steps in. I rode the waves anyway; it just wasn't an especially long ride. Still, it was an exhilarating afternoon.
In stark contrast to the crashing surf of Fine Bay was the last of the beaches we had a chance to explore. On the day we rented a car, Donna annotated a map for us, pointing out some of the great beaches. The directions she provided were along the lines of "when you get to the high school in the settlement, make
the first right onto an unpaved road; go past the community clinic, through the mangroves; as you get to the graveyard, turn either left or right." We did just that in the settlement of Old Bight, and were richly rewarded. Just beyond the
A view of Fine Bay from atop the overgrown dune we had to slide down to reach it.
casuarinas glittered a breathtaking swath of beach on Exuma Sound. Several miles long, with only a house or two on it, this slice of perfection rivaled the most beautiful beaches we've seen in all of our travels to the islands, including Providenciales' Grace Bay. Of course, one would only like this beach if they prefer their beaches free of all-inclusive resorts, jetski concessions, and hair-braiding vendors. Powdery white sand, gin-clear water lapping lazily ashore with nary a rock or clump of weed to mar it, and the hush of the wind ruffling pine needles. We would have lingered forever, had an ominous black wall of clouds (and the prospect of happy hour) not driven us back into our car and back to FBV.
