Bahamians love 3 things above all: Religion, Junkanoo, and Conch.
And I love pink. There is no shade of pink like the inside of a conch shell. It’s delicious. Pink doesn’t know what pink is until it sets eyes on the underbelly of a conch. So, Religion and Junkanoo aside, let’s talk about conch.
A conch and its shell are a beautiful example of opposites attracting. Have you ever picked up a live conch shell? If so, maybe you took note of the weirdest pair of eyes assigned to the animal kingdom. It is quite possibly the strangest animal I’ve ever seen.
Their eyes move around independently on two telescoping arms that creep out of its shell with the most vulnerable curiosity. And if you’ve ever cleaned a conch to eat, and encountered their indelicate sticky slime, you might have asked the same question I did:
“Who ever thought of eating these slimy things?”
When the British started taxing the Bahamians on their food (not unlike Boston’s infamous “Tea Party,”) the Bahamians responded: We’d rather eat conch.
And they stayed true to their word, finding 27 different ways to eat it. Conch is still on the menu in the Bahamas, every menu in fact. And the Bahamians still do things their way, through perseverance and resourcefulness, they are writing the rule book here.
In addition to being the national icon, conch is also the national dish. In a country of about 400,000 people, 9,000 of them are conch fisherman. That’s 2 percent of the population. Conch isn’t just on the menu, its enmeshed in the culture, history and people of the islands.
A Mountain of Conch
After years of preparation and perseverance, my husband and I and two kids sailed to the Bahamas on our 38 foot Catamaran. The first pile of discarded conch shells we spotted was on the protected side of Lee Socking Island. My toddler bubbled over with glee as she spotted her dream come true: a giant pink sea shell.
At second glance we noticed the obscene pile of shells that amassed from beneath the water, piling up on the shore. It was an exquisite graveyard of mollusks. Charred black by the sun, the shells illuminated the brightest, unimaginable pink from inside. My daughter squealed with delight.
Aside from the elderly German sailor jogging naked around the bend, there was no one else for miles. The isolation of the more remote islands in the Exumas adds infinite mystery and awe to everything you come across. There are simply no distractions to the sensory input that will overcome your awareness in this otherworldly paradise.
The salty pink graveyard captivated us for the rest of the evening as we soaked in the breeze and impeccable sunset. We waited out a blow on the Banks side of Lee Stocking Island before approaching our destination in Georgetown.
Great Exuma
The seas were lumpy the following days as we sailed into Georgetown in 20 knot winds through Conch Cut. After dropping the hook outside the Chat n’ Chill restaurant, we spotted a mountain of harvested shells, marking the Conch Shack.
The notorious Chat n’ Chill offers a colorful taste of conch life in the Bahamas. A small structure sits on a precarious lean, in pure island style, where conch shells are cleaned and made into ceviche on the spot for cruisers and weekend tourists. For ten bucks you can get a cup with slimy chunks of conch for the sting rays that lie in wait on the beach to be hand fed. The rest is cleaned and prepared for Ceviche. Conch was harvested for sting ray food on a slimy, fly infested fish table just on the other side of the ceviche table. I raised an eyebrow at this culinary misfire. How they keep the conch clean before it becomes the salad is a mystery. But hey, the mystery only adds to the flavor, right?
Regardless of this obvious discrepancy, the line for conch grew and grew until it was almost as long as the line at the bar. As exciting as it all was, it was still a side of conch life catered and curated for tourists. I wanted to see more of the real Bahamas. More of the locals, their food, and their lifestyle.
So we pulled anchor and headed for some of the smaller, lesser known Islands.
Our first stop off the beaten path:
Little Farmer’s Cay.
Little Farmer’s Cay is only known for a few things: their 5 F party (First Friday Festival in February at Farmer’s Cay), the turtle whisperer, and its iconically quaint and welcoming island community.
We dropped the hook on the western side of the island hoping in vain for a modest swell. Our calculations were way off. The swell was so uncomfortable that we opted to run to shore for dinner and some solid ground before dark. We pulled our dinghy on the beach and walked through some brush until we found the road. A local in a golf cart came roaring around the bend shouting, “Get in!” We promptly obeyed and were chauffeured around by Dino, also known as the ‘Turtle Whisperer’. No introductions, no small talk, just: where you headed? How long you stayin‘? And, Don’t anchor over there, anchor over there! I made a date to watch Dino whisper to the turtles the following morning.
I will admit he didn’t do much whispering. He fed the turtles copious amounts of conch while banging on a conch shell underwater with a hammer. After ringing the dinner bell, the turtles came one by one for their promised snacks. I snorkeled with my five year old as green sea turtles swam close enough to touch, embedding their beautiful forms in our memories forever.
On the other side of the dock a curious but hesitant Lemon Shark caught my attention through my snorkel mask, but she kept her distance. Meanwhile a turtle chased me across the harbor mistaking my go pro for tasty conch.
I just love it here.
Going Local.
After a memorable morning in the harbor being chased by a turtle and swimming with sharks, I saw a small fishing boat pull up to the dock. A mountain of lobster and conch lay on the floor of his little skiff. I walked over with my mouth agape at the mountain of gold and blurted, “Wow, I would love to see how you get all that conch and lobster!”
“Yeah, you can come any time,” he responded.
“Really?”
And so we exchanged numbers and I set a date to go conch diving in two days with Jeffery Rolle and his brother.
I didn’t think about how we would accomplish this with our two small children in tow. But if I’ve learned anything while sailing with kids its this: Where there’s a will there’s a way. It just takes some problem solving and resourcefulness to pave that path comfortably.
And so our plan to take two small children conch diving with a couple of locals was: Snacks. So many snacks.
We caught up with Jefferey Rolle and his brother at Rudder Cut, about 15 miles south of Farmers Cay. We sailed on the sound side and made it back onto the banks in time for slack tide. After excruciating trial and error, we have learned that going through the cuts in the Exumas is much easier at slack tide. Here’s an article explaining just how complicated timing your entry/exit in the cuts of the Bahamas can be.
We spotted Jefferey in his little John boat after some confusing what’s app messages and phone calls. He waved and told us to drop anchor and follow him. We hurriedly dropped the hook and loaded up the kids in our dinghy and followed them into the unknown.
After 20 minutes of endless dinghy motoring I began to wonder, where are we going? Are we going to have enough gas to get back? It is going to be safe where ever he decides to stop and dive in? Will we be back before the forecasted winds pick up? Anxiety is like a dam. Once you open the flood gates, the negative interrogation of the mind starts to pour forth.
But after years of battling with my own fearful inquisition of the mind, I’ve learned to back up, and remind myself that adventure usually starts outside our comfort zone. And it works its way out from there. Being outside of our comfort zone doesn’t mean we are in danger. We just have to weigh the risks and asses the facts.
Just around the time I started to feel really out there, Jeffery slowed his boat and his brother hopped in the water, with nothing but his mask, fins and speedo.
I suited up in my snorkel gear, grabbed my camera, and hopped in.
The water was like glass.
The flames of my worry were instantly doused the moment my face hit the water.
I could see endlessly beneath the surface. Sound was muffled by water and my eyes took the wheel of my sensory experience. The ocean was like a gravity blanket for my anxiety. The weight of it pillowed my worries till they were nothing but dissipating clouds in my mind. The scene before me was a live aquarium of coral heads and colorful fish atop perfectly parallel ridges of white powder sand.
Jeffery’s brother dove straight to the bottom. He calmly assessed the underside of every coral head, upside down. With his Hawaiian Sling he speared one lobster after another and threw them into his boat like a conveyor belt.
Every coral head was populated with colonies of swimming color. It was like all the fish in my reef identification book had come to life.
After looking under all the coral heads in the area, we pulled anchor and went farther on to dive and repeat. But instead of getting back in the boat like I did, Jeffrey’s brother hung onto the stern of the skiff with one arm, and put his mask in the water while being drug along by the boat.
He couldn’t have been more than a few inches from the propeller. But clearly, they had done this before, so I wasn’t too worried.
Every time they stopped to dive, my husband and I took take turns diving with the locals while the other sat in the dinghy with the kids. They were busy happily eating snacks under the shade of their wide brimmed hats.
The conch were virtually impossible to spot. I watched as Jefferey’s brother dove down to a patch of empty sand, identical from all the sand around it, coming up with a conch every time. He zeroed in on their invisible forms and dove down repeatedly in one breath, rising for air with 2 or 3 conch in his hands.
Runaway Conch
After watching the professionals at work, my husband couldn’t wait to get his hands on some ocean to table grub. He can do the ocean, I’ll do the table. I couldn’t wait to try my hand at a Bahamian Conch Ceviche recipe.
There were a few conch under our boat outside of Compass Cay on the sound side. We put them in a bucket to save for later, and recycled the ocean water every few hours. My husband had a date with YouTube on how to clean these suckers before we could think about cooking them.
But later on that night, we came back to an empty bucket! Apparently conch aren’t as dumb as they look. They escaped their ceviche future with nothing but a pair of silly eyes and a claw. I can’t say I was too disappointed after I caught them looking up at me with their muppet-like stare. They earned their freedom!
The Future of Bahamian Conch
Over fishing and climate change have contributed to a recent and rapid decline in Bahamian Conch. The US learned the hard way, that once the conch population reaches below a certain number, it doesn’t come back. Key West is still nicknamed the “Conch Republic”. But good luck finding a conch anywhere near the Florida Keys, as they were wiped out years ago. But of course, that doesn’t satiate the American appetite for conch. The US is the number one importer of conch, putting even more strain on the dwindling population of Bahamian Conch. The US government is considering listing conch under the Endangered Species Act to put a halt on the import of Bahamian conch.
The decline in conch however, doesn’t seem to be stopping the locals. The Bahamians respond by simply diving deeper. Conch used to be prolific in shallow waters. But now, fisherman are diving upwards of 40-60 feet to harvest the shell fish.
Diving Deeper
We met Elvardo, a local fisherman and chef at Black Point Settlement in the Exumas. We were walking by his goat farm with our two kids when he rolled by on a bicycle. He stopped to introduce himself to us, and all of his goats to our kids. He pointed to one goat with three legs. She got caught up in barbed wire and by the time he realized what happened to her leg, it was already infected. I assumed there was no veterinarian on the island, but I asked anyways..
“No! I had to cut it off myself!”
He told us how grandfather taught him to keep flies off an infection with bleach and motor oil. My mouth dropped open.
There are no bounds to the determination and resourcefulness of the Bahamian islanders. I’m happy to report the goat is doing wonderfully and just delivered another kid to the herd.
Later on we had lunch at Emerald Bay Marina and Restaurant where Elvardo worked. My husband and I ate conch burgers and watched a shiver of sharks take turns swimming lazily by the dock under the restaurant patio. Elvardo came out to talk with us after he finished cooking our meal. Sharks came up in conversation as we watched a large Nurse Shark glide past us.
I asked him if he ever had any issues while free diving for lobsters and conch.
“No, I never had no issues with sharks. In 10 years of diving. Just one little time I had some trouble, but that’s all, in all my years of diving.”
“What happened the ‘one little time?’” I asked.
He told us the story of diving 40 feet deep with a snapper on his sling gun and a tiger shark came for the catch. After the shark got the catch it came back for him. He had to stick it with his sling gun, but then four more tiger sharks came after him after he hit the first one.
“The shark called for back up!” He laughed.
“What did you do?” I asked, in disbelief at the thought of such a terrifying encounter.
“I got outa there!”
We all laughed at the casual telling of his near death experience.
All the therapy in the world couldn’t bring me back from an encounter like that.
What a badass. And of course, he still free dives for fish, conch and lobster, as often as he can.
We have been in the Bahamas more than 2 months now. The remote islands of the Exumas have won our hearts. And not just the post card scenery, but the people. The people here are just so cool. They are happy, hospitable, kind, trustworthy, and everything in between.
So here’s to conch and Bahamian fisherman! May their future be long and abundant on the sandy white shores of Bahamian waters.
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