Lyin' low in Abaco

It's so friendly that these visitors found themselves at a wedding reception

Author: By Randall Peffer, Globe Correspondent

Date: SUNDAY, March 29, 1998

Page: M13

Section: Travel

I smiled dumbly and glanced around at the crowd of wedding revelers. The reception here at Nippers, Great Guana Cay's beach bar and grill, suddenly seemed frozen like a video on ``pause'' as I contemplated saying something stupid to fill the silence. But then the bar's CD player saved me by launching into an island melody called ``Layin' Low in Abaco.'' The crowd began to swirl again to the music.

Suddenly -- caught up in the melody of steel drums -- the bride, the groom, and I were all smiling. So I confessed.

``I'm sort of a party crasher,'' I said. ``Your cousin invited my wife and me.''

``Welcome to Guana,'' said the bride.

The groom leaned toward me and said he had already guessed that my wife and I were the couple who had rented the house next to the settlement grocery store.

``You can run on this island, but you can't hide,'' he said with a wink.

Truer than true. ``Guana'' is one of the so-called ``Loyalist Cays'' lying about 10 miles east of Marsh Harbor in the Abaco Group of the northeast Bahamas. But unlike the surrounding cays like Green Turtle, Man O' War, and Elbow (Hope Town), which were settled in the 18th century by refugees from the American Revolution, Guana remains largely undeveloped. There are only about 150 permanent residents in the settlement on Kidd's Cove, who survive by lobster fishing and servicing three small resorts. Daily ferry service from Marsh Harbor -- the ``mainland'' on Great Abaco -- and residential telephone service has come only within the last two years. Guana stretches seven miles north to south but only a half-mile east to west. The main attraction is the possibility of running away from the world on miles of vacant, sugar-sand beach rimming the Atlantic shore of this long sliver of an island.

And running away from big-city jobs was exactly why my wife, Jackie, and I had rented a house on Guana instead of picking a more populated isle.

We were not looking for yachting or fishing or gambling or golf or tennis or -- frankly -- lots of other homo sapiens. So we felt knocked a little off balance when a smiling man driving a golf cart (the conveyance of choice on the island) stopped us just shortly after we had lugged our bags off the government ferry dock and invited us to a free buffet at Nipper's.

But we went. We sampled the smoked fish. We drank a complimentary rum punch. And we started drifting toward the beach for a long, moonlit walk when the first islander introduced himself . . . and his wife . . . and his children . . . and his neighbors. Before the crowd had made a dent in a mound of spicy chicken wings, we found ourselves introduced to what seemed like half the people on the island -- and invited to the wedding.

Early the next morning, Jackie and I pulled running shorts over our bathing suits, tied on our Nikes, and started out for a jog down the beach. But we had not even gotten out of the settlement when a red-bearded man with fair, freckled skin and twinkling, blue eyes typical of the island gene pool waved us over to his vegetable stand by the giant fig tree on the harbor. A half-hour later, we had a bag of ripening tomatoes and more than passing familiarity with ``The World According to Milo Pinder'' -- bearded vendor, bird lover, gardener, descendant of British Loyalists, and island sage.

Then, just as suddenly as he had flagged us down, Milo released us. ``Go in peace,'' he said in the islander's typical accent, which sounded distinctly Cornish, and waved his hand as if ushering us through some imaginary gate onto his island.

Ten minutes later, we found ourselves miles away from everything on an empty beach where the day promised simply a fresh jog, bright sun, and a plunge in the warm surf.

And so our days unfolded, broken only by trail bike adventures over dirt tracks for picnics on isolated coves or exploration of Disney's abandoned Treasure Island resort at Bakers Bay on the northern tip of Guana. More than once, Jackie remarked how Guana's beach and topography reminded her of our honeymoon on Bermuda, but without the cast of thousands.

Inevitably as we returned from losing ourselves on Guana, some islander hailed us and invited us into a cottage or under a shade tree for a glass of water or a chilled bottle of Kalik, the Bahamian beer. And every night we found ourselves at community events like the wedding, a coral concert in the church, a wild boor roast, and a conch feast.

During these days and nights we discovered that we were not Guana's only adopted children. Helping with odd jobs around the shop next door to us was a young Cuban who had arrived in the Bahamas in a 16-foot boat after three days at sea and five previous attempts to flee his homeland.

At the heart of Kidd's Cove lived an 84-year-old master mariner and his wife from New Hampshire who had found happiness ``just helpin' the island boys mess around with their boats.'' Across the harbor, a former London banker and her husband were making a go of a boutique hotel called the Guana Beach Resort. And these folks were just the vanguard for a small expatriate community that included a writer, a painter, a musician, and a retired Coast Guard couple, all just lyin' low in Abaco.'' But whether they were ``mainlanders'' or Bahamians, they all wanted to share. One man offered us his small sailboat to ``take out for a little spin.'' Another invited me to go fishing for 50-pound wahoo. A family we met one day on the beach told us to ``just stop by and borrow the masks and flippers off the porch'' any time we felt like snorkeling over the sea gardens that lie just a few yards off the beach. Another couple invited us over for a ``sundown snack,'' which turned out to be about three pounds of chilled, fresh lobster meat soaked in lime juice, black pepper, and a hint of Tabasco.

A high point came for Jackie and me our last night on Guana.

During the afternoon, a collection of islanders had been adding wooden boxes, pallets, and dried brush to three piles on the beach in front of Nippers. When I asked what all this was about, Johnny Roberts, the proprietor of Nippers, told me that tonight the island planned to light bonfires to celebrate Guy Fawkes Day, an old English holiday in early November.

``But this is January,'' I said.

``Guana's on Bahamian Time,'' he said, shrugging.

Of course, Jackie and I went to the bonfire. Everyone on the island did. As calypso songs about Conchy Joes' (white Bahamians) and their mermaid daughters seeped down to the beach from Nipper's, along with the ubiquitous chicken wings and fruity rum drinks, we watched the pillars of sparks fly toward the stars, listened to the waves crisping on the sand, and hugged islanders who came up one-by-one to us to hug us because they had heard we were leaving.

Throughout all this, Jackie noticed that my mind had begun to drift.

``What gives?'' she asked.

``I was thinking about something Milo said the last time I went up to his stand to buy tomatoes,'' I answered.

Jackie gave me a quizzical look.

``He said, `You been lost . . . but now you been found.' ''

``Amen, brother,'' said my wife.

Guana is a newcomer to the modern world, but the island now has electricity, residential phone services, a well-stocked grocery store, a grog shop, two restaurants, a convenience store, a school, several gift shops, a lively beach bar and grill, three small resorts, and over two dozen vacation homes for rent. Most islanders work at fishing or servicing the low-key vacation industry.

Getting there: By air: Bahamas Air (phone 800-222-4262), Gulfstream International (305-871-1200), Continental Connection (800-231-0856), and US Airways Express (800-428-4322) all offer turboprop flights to Marsh Harbor from the major airline hubs in south Florida.

by ferry: AIT (242-365-6010) offers at least three ferries a day between Guana and Marsh Harbor, leaving Marsh Harbor at 9 a.m., noon, and 4 p.m., and some evenings.

Albery's Ferry Service (242-367-3147) has a ferry leaving Marsh Harbor for Guana at 3:30.

Getting around: Guana is a walker's paradise -- all the harbor, beach, and settlement's attractions within a half-mile stroll. Trail bikes are available through many of the house rentals. Islanders and vacationers with homes outside the settlement use golf carts for transportation. Rentals are available through Donna's Golf Cart and Bike Rentals (242-365-5195).

When to go: George Washington called the Bahamas the ``isles of perpetual June,'' and that gives an approximation of the climate. But since the islands are subtropical, there are season changes. Daytime temperature December through April run in the mid 70s but can get significantly cooler when a ``norther'' blows through. Summer temperatures average 80 degrees, quite a bit cooler and less humid than nearby Florida. The Abacos are relatively breezy year round. Sea water temperature ranges from 74 degrees in midwinter to 80 degrees in summer. Most of the rain falls June through November. August and September are peak hurricane months.

Where to stay: Small resorts: Guana Beach Resort and Marina (800-BAREFOOT, 242-365-5133, or guanabeach.com on the Web. Dolphin Beach Resort Bed & Breakfast (242-365-5137 or dolphinbeach(at sign)oii.net). Guana Seaside Village (800-242-0942) or guanaseaside(at sign)oii.net.

Rentals: Bahamas Vacations (800-462-2426 or bahamasvacations/ guana/html). Pinder's Real Estate & Rentals (242-365-50460 or abacos.com/pinder). Donna M. Sands (242-365-5195).

Information: For tourism information, call 800-OUT-ISLANDS or check bahamas-out-islands.com on the Web. ``Bahamas, a Travel Survival Kit'' offers information for travelers interested in the Abacos history and culture as well as off-beat travel tips. Lonely Planet Publications (510-893-8555 or lonelyplanet.com).