Feburary 21, 2004
The not-so-great white hunter

With the price of food being what it is, and the fact that there are no fish in the markets (they are sold to the restaurants unless you catch the guys cleaning the fish right off their boats) the food supply is dwindling and priorities are changing.  No longer can I sit all day and write. Nay, nay!  I must now transform into something I have never been.  A hunter.  That's what they call it here, hunting.  Lobster hunting.  It is a calling we all get as we open another can of beans.  Just a spear, a mask, a pair of flippers and an unshakable desire to eat something tantalizing like lobster, and you have the makings of a hunter.   And the ability to hold your breath, leap from the dinghy into the ocean and fight yourself downward about 20 feet to blast the poor things between the eyes…if you can find them. 

Therein lies the problem.  Finding the suckers.  Even with the above commitment, you still need to find them.  The last four days have seen my writing dwindle with the seduction of lobster.   Yes, I have a lobster Jones.  Only one month left and lobsters will be able to sneer at you from the beach and you will not be able to catch them.  One month to hunt, gather, and store enough lobster to last until you have to eat beans again.

With advice from a fellow cruiser who caught seven lobsters the other day, we set out by dink to collect our share of the delectables from his secret location outside the reef in Exuma Sound.  Rounding the cay into the Sound we found the waves a bit rowdy for jumping out (and getting back in ) the dink and the water too deep for its miserable little anchor to hold it while we were on the hunt.  Visions of popping to the surface to find the dink a mile away, led us to devise a plan to anchor the dink on the lee side of the island, traverse the island by foot, and swim to the reef from the shore.  Brilliant!  So, gathering hunting gear, and looking awkward climbing the trails seaward in reef walkers and wet suits, we arrived at last, sweating, to the shore.  As high as the waves looked from the ocean, they appeared even more ominous from land.  As we tried to figure out how to get through the crashing waves and out over the reefs without injuring ourselves, we paced up and down the beach searching for a safe point of entry.  After realizing how many lobster dinners could be purchased for the price of a medical air lift (which we would surely need if we tried to pull off this stunt), with as much dignity we could muster, the hunters crossed back to the dink, spears, flippers, wetsuits and all, over the hiking trail to make reservations for dinner.

Another day, another hunt.  

Without any advice from tipsters this time, we loaded up the dink with hunting gear and headed southeast this time to Dog & Puppy Cays in Exuma Sound.  Knowing lobsters have a penchant for craggy faraway places, we struck out confident that this time would be THE time to snare a few of these tasty critters.  Anchoring just outside of the current in the lee side of the cay, we dove the anchor and packed it in sand.  Out of the dink came hunting gear and with determination, swam with the current along the rocks and into the caves that promised to offer up a mother load of lobster delights.  The snorkeling was great.  Out of the dink and the first thing I see is a huge, HUGE, barracuda.  No problem, I've seen them on my dive trips before, and besides, I had a spear, I am warrior woman, hunter extraordinaire.  I kept telling myself that as I looked around the next corner, and the next, and the next.   You guessed it, NO LOBSTERS, just barracuda!   Realizing the lobsters in the area must have gone on vacation, I turned around.  No sight of the dink.  I guess that current must have been stronger than it looked.  A half hour swim later, and there it was, in all its patched and scraped majesty--the dink.  No lobster, but I was thankful nonetheless.

So, stay tuned for another lobster tale.